


Numb

by petrodactyl352



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), Castlevania (Netflix), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Angst, Because he deserves them cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Gratuitous Smut, Healing Sex, Multi, OT3, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-OT3, Psychological Trauma, Shameless Smut, Some cuddles for Alucard, so much sex, way too much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-12-26 07:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18278486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrodactyl352/pseuds/petrodactyl352
Summary: They've come back for him, and he knows he should feel happy, and grateful and relieved that the horrors of being alone are finally over. He knows that he should feelsomething. But all he feels is numb.





	1. Don't You Hear My Call, Though You're Many Years Away

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again. I took a bit of a break writing my other story and also writer's block is a total bitch, so here I am with another small story to keep myself on my toes. It's just a little what-if, and is the unholy love child of my headcanons and my hormones. 
> 
> A fair warning: Angst approaches you; lots and lots of angst. Proceed with caution!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Perhaps you thought of me once or twice while you were away, but what have I ever been to you besides the son of the vampire you were going to kill?" His breathing turned heavy and labored. "What have I ever been to you besides _Alucard?_ "

It was raining when they finally went back.

The sky above them was a deep gray, almost blue, the clouds swollen with water and thick with lightning hanging low in the sky, as if they were so weighted down that they couldn't be bothered staying higher like they were supposed to. Sheets of rain were cascading down, striking the ground like silver razors and collecting at the side of the road in gross puddles and turning the dirt into muck. 

He could barely see the castle, which wasn't all too comforting, owing to its sheer size and the fact that it loomed over every other structure in a forty-mile radius. It was apparently shrouded in low-hanging clouds and mist and the buckets of rain that were pouring from the sky. He couldn't see a thing, not even when, followed by a deafening boom of thunder, slender cracks of lightning split the sky open and seared themselves into his vision. 

The wind whipped around him, and stray raindrops sprayed onto his cheeks and neck like pinpricks of wet and cold. He was liberally soaked through already, despite being seated inside the wagon with an apparently perfunctory roof above his head and an equally perfunctory Speaker sitting beside him. 

"Can't you make a fire or something?" he shouted above the screaming storm, and Sypha glared at him, her curls waving madly in the wind as if sending out a distress signal. "Yes, of course it would be so practical to make a fire in this deluge!" she shouted back. "Of course I can't make a fire! It'll go right out, and then there'll be no point—we're almost there, anyway!"

"How do you even know?" He squinted at her, trying to hide his shivering. "I can't see a fucking thing!"

She merely pointed mutely, and he looked behind him, peering into the torrents of rain to see dark hulking shapes rising from the ground, sparse and irregular. As the next round of lightning rent the air, the flashes illuminated the crumbling remains of the Belmont hold, the rusting gates sunken in a muddy puddle and the weeds pouring from the cracks in the facade flapping in the wind. 

He turned in front again, feeling his throat close up as it usually did when he saw the house as it was now—it brought back too many bitter memories of how it had been when it was tall and proud and had light spilling from its arching stained-glass windows rather than dilapidated and shattered and decaying. How, when he was a child, he'd press his face to his window and watch the rain pour outside, and be safe and warm and happy within the walls of his home rather than outside in a rickety wagon, lashed by rain and mud, freezing and soaked and seeing it all in ruins. 

"We should tie the horses here and walk the rest of the way!" Sypha shouted, small freezing fingers bunching in his sleeve. Her teeth were chattering. "They'll get spooked, and there's too much lightning!"

He made a complicated gesture that he hoped conveyed his agreement, then yanked hard on the reins. The wagon slowed, then stopped completely, and before the wheels could completely still, he'd leaped down, managing not to get kicked in the face as he untied the horses. And somehow in a jumble of rain and wet horse hair and rope, he tied them in a relatively shaded outcropping of the manor. 

They shoved the wagon under another outcropping, hoping that would protect it from the worst of the storm. Then, Sypha grabbed Trevor's arm determinedly, and they put their heads down and marched towards the castle, relentlessly being buffeted back by wind and lashed with rain that stung his face. He felt Sypha shivering and valiantly trying to hide it, but her shoulder where it brushed against his was trembling slightly, and he could hear her teeth chattering. 

He carefully slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him even though his clothes were soaked through and probably even colder than her robes, which were thinner. She said nothing, but leaned into him gratefully, shifting to align their steps as they trudged through the muddy path and the dripping trees that sprayed them with water as they walked. He felt water drenching his ankles and seeping a bit into his boots, which was supremely uncomfortable and gross. 

Altogether, it wasn't exactly the backdrop for the reunion he'd had in mind, which was more along the lines of sunshine and rainbows and actually being able to see where they were fucking going. 

After what felt like years of slowly moving through the accumulated muck and puddles that lay like a minefield between the manor and the castle, it finally came into view, rising out of the ground suddenly and towering above them. There was another crack of lightning and a slow rumble of thunder, and in the accompanying flash he saw the turrets and towers of Alucard's new home, imposing and massive. 

They stumbled up the steps to the front door, then sagged against it, finally free of the rain. Trevor shook out his hair like a wet dog as Sypha wrung the water from her robes, making a face at the puddles that gathered as a result. Once they'd both sufficiently dried themselves enough to pass as human, they turned to the door, so tall that the top was lost in shadow. Standing below, he felt almost small, insignificant, as if the very door was designed to extinguish hope. _Turn back,_ it seemed to say. _You're not welcome here._

"Should we... knock?" Sypha's voice was oddly small, as if she shared his thoughts. He glanced at the doors, then back to Sypha, then shrugged. "No idea. I didn't even think we'd make it this far."

She rolled her eyes, then raised a fist and knocked thrice, hard. It produced a loud, clanging sound that seemed to echo all the way down to his bones, making him shiver again. She dropped her hand, biting her lip, and they waited. 

No answer. 

Trevor tried next, knocking louder and longer, his knuckles smarting when he lowered his hand. Still they were answered by only silence, a ringing, piercing silence that was somehow even louder than the echoes of their knocks. Sypha hunted for a doorbell, feeling along the walls and standing on her tiptoes, but eventually returned to his side, frowning and shaking her head. 

"You think he's gone back to sleep?" She sounded hesitant and even a little sad, though she evidently tried to hide it. He could tell she was disappointed, and a bit let down as well, as if she had also expected something better from finally going back after months to see Alucard again.

"Doubt it." He frowned up at the doors. "He wasn't injured badly, and he had plenty of work to do as well. And... I mean—it's not like he wouldn't have been expecting us to come back, right?"

Sypha's frown deepened as she twisted her fingers together. "I suppose."

He squinted at the doors. "Should I break the door down?"

"Trevor, no."

"It's just a suggestion."

"It's rude."

"Well, he's the one who locked us out, that's also pretty rude."

"Trevor—"

The doors opened. 

It was slow, stone grinding against stone as they did. He could see the yawning mouth of the gap between them, dark and wide, a blast of frigid air rushing from inside. The doors slid open until the edges touched the outer wall, thrown open fully now. They were somehow even bigger like this, like two mountains that had split open to reveal a passage between them. 

And inside the doorway stood Alucard.

He looked exactly the same as he had the day they had left him, but there was something else about his appearance that was different, something Trevor couldn't quite identify. His blond curls were loose around his shoulders, and they seemed darker somehow. He was dressed in a plain white button-down shirt so thin he could see the paleness of his skin through it, his usual leather pants, and black boots that rose till his knees. 

Trevor barely had time to get a proper look at his face before Sypha cried, "Alucard!" and rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly. 

That was when Trevor first realized something wasn't quite right. 

He didn't move, even as Sypha's arms held him to her, his face entirely expressionless, even a little tight. He gently took hold of Sypha's arms and pulled away, stepping back almost coldly. Sypha took a step back as well, arms still half-held out, the smile on her face slipping. 

"Please, come in," Alucard said, and it was stiff and formal, as if he didn't know them at all. "Get out of the rain."

He stepped aside to allow them inside, closing the door behind them as they went. Alucard looped his hands behind his back, and as the doors shut with a low boom, the sound of the storm was cut off suddenly and abruptly, enveloping them in silence. He couldn't even hear the thunder. 

"Where's the wagon?" was his first question. "I hope you weren't forced to abandon it?"

"No, we left it at the ruins," said Trevor, eyeing him carefully. There was still something nagging at his brain and telling him there was something off about Alucard and he couldn't see it, that what was off about him didn't extend to his appearance alone. "It was raining too hard."

"I see." He nodded at them. "You must be freezing. Come, I'll show you to a fire and perhaps you can clean up before you head back."

"Head... back?" Sypha's voice was incredulous, disbelieving. "No, Alucard, we've come to stay—if that's fine with you, I mean..." She bit her lip, glancing at Trevor, and he was both surprised and a little shocked to see her eyes swimming with tears. "We've come to stay with you," she finished, her voice small and quiet. 

If Trevor had thought Alucard's earlier look was cold, then this was downright frozen. "Oh?" His voice, however, was nothing but polite and formal. "You didn't write telling me you would be coming to stay, I'd have cleaned up to anticipate you."

"We... we wanted to surprise you." Her voice was getting smaller and smaller by the second. 

His face softened ever so slightly, and his lips curved up into the barest semblance of a smile. And in that one fleeting second when he did, Trevor's brain finally seemed to wake up and present to him an entire catalog of ways in which he seemed different. 

He was thinner, more wiry—he'd gone from svelte and slender to almost whipcord thin, but with a lean layer of muscle over his form, as if he'd been lifting weights all day but not eating. His hair fell in loose waves over his shoulders and back, and he realized it seemed darker because it was dirtier, and it was just messy enough to suggest that he didn't care. He was even paler than usual, but it wasn't a good sort of pale—it looked as if he got next to no sunlight, and there was a waxy sheen to his skin that Trevor didn't like. 

And perhaps the worst change of all—his expression, the vacancy in his face. He looked like a man caught in a bad dream and who was expecting to wake up any moment. His eyes were almost sunken, like golden bruises in his face, and there were permanent shadows beneath them. His face was more hollowed, as if someone had whittled down his bones to almost gauntness. 

"Ah. I see—this is a pleasant surprise indeed, then." Without waiting for a reply, he began to walk deeper into the castle, and Trevor and Sypha shared an uneasy look before hastening after him. "There are plenty of rooms for you to stay," he was saying as they caught up. "Though thankfully I'll only have to clean one, the rest are filled with dust and cobwebs—"

"What do you mean, only one?" Trevor asked, frowning. 

Alucard's cold golden gaze passed over both of them, his upper lip curling so slightly Trevor wouldn't have noticed it if he didn't know his face so well. "I assumed that since the two of you are together now, one room would suffice. Am I mistaken?"

Sypha's cheeks flushed a brilliant scarlet, and Trevor imagined he looked similarly mortified as Alucard raised a single eyebrow. "I mean—well—"

"As I thought." He moved ahead again, long legs carrying him effortlessly across the hallway. "Here." He stopped by a door, opening it and gesturing inside. "It's relatively cleaner, and it has a bathroom inside so you needn't keep coming outside. We can talk later—for now, get some rest. Tell me if you need anything, I'm three doors down the hall to the right."

And with that he strode away, not even looking back as he disappeared down the hall, rounding the corner and vanishing from sight within seconds. He heard the click of a door closing moments later. 

"I don't understand," said Sypha, her voice wavering. "What's wrong? What's happened to him?"

"I don't know." He was still looking at where Alucard had vanished, at the dark, peeling wallpaper, as if it held all the secrets of the universe. "I don't understand," he said, echoing Sypha's earlier words. "Isn't he happy to see us?"

"Maybe it was a bad idea to come here." She stormed into the room, wiping furiously at her eyes as she did. "Maybe we should have just stayed with my people a little longer instead of coming here and making everything worse—"

"Sypha, calm down." He reached out, but she batted his hand away. "No," she said, her voice shaking even more. "I was so happy to see him, Trevor. Weren't you?"

"I... yeah, I was." He looked down, sighing. Sypha went on, and when she looked at him, he'd thought he'd see tears on her face, but her eyes were dry. "And did he seem happy we came back?"

"No," he said softly. 

She sighed, sitting heavily on the bed. "No," she repeated. "No, he wasn't—isn't."

A puff of dust rose from the mattress as she sat, and she coughed angrily, scowling at the wall. "Maybe he just needs some time," Trevor tried, sitting next to her, sending another plume of dust into the air. "It might all be a little overwhelming, being alone for so long and then suddenly having company again."

"I hope for all our sake that you're right, then," was all Sypha said in reply.

* * *

He closed the door behind him, breathing hard. His heart was slamming its way right out of his chest, one of the first times he'd actually _felt_ his heart beating inside him, a wild, frenzied pulse against his ribs. It made his whole body shudder back and forth, and he hadn't ever felt like this, hadn't ever been so keenly aware of his human senses, not since—

_He turned his face away, driving the stake deeper into his father's heart. He felt the rough wooden tip pierce through it, tear through his skin and out through his back in a burst of blood too bright to belong to a human. He could feel his own heart beating, wildly, as if to beat for his father's as well, whose blood was dripping down Adrian's hands like red tears. His pulse was loud in his own ears, drowning out everything else, every other sound, and he felt it overwhelm him—was his heart being torn apart the same way he was doing to his father's? Was he paying for what he was doing, for killing his father, for committing the sin of all sins? Would he never see Sypha or Trevor again—?_

He lurched back into his body, on his hands and knees by the dead hearth. He was gasping for breath, his chest contracting and spasming, tears running down his cheeks. He couldn't breathe, feeling the panic and fear choking him, and felt his throat close up as his tears dripped down onto the carpet. 

He felt himself calm gradually, as he had for... for however long he'd been alone. It had been days, at first, then the days had bled into weeks, which had bled into a meaningless blur of time and shifting seasons. It didn't matter to him anymore; every single day, this would happen, this seizing up of his body and the shaking and the crying and the gasping. It just didn't go away. 

He had come to think of it as his father's hands, the remnants of his anger and his sadness that festered inside Adrian now, the hands that held his throat so he couldn't breathe and filled his head with memories that returned in flashes so vivid that he blacked out, sometimes for hours at a time. He would wake, cold and shivering and with the hands around his throat blocking his air, and he would wait for it to be over.

But now... now they had come back. After millennia, they had come back for him.

But they were too late. 

He was already long gone.

* * *

Eventually Trevor had gotten Sypha to calm down and sleep for a while, but it had taken a lot of coaxing and swearing and a fair amount of kissing to get it done. She had protested until he'd lain down with her, kicking off his boots and crawling behind her so that her back curved against his chest, his chin resting on her shoulder and their legs tangled. His arms were wrapped around her waist, and he was so warm it was like being swathed in three blankets instead of one. 

He didn't say anything, just held her to him and closed his eyes. She felt his soft breaths on the back of her neck, and the faint tickle of his eyelashes brushing her skin as well. It was one of the many things that had made her fall for him in the first place—his willingness to give her space, to comfort her without words, to make her feel safe by simply being there. 

Eventually he fell asleep, and she could feel the rumble of his breaths through her back, which was pressed to his chest. She closed her eyes, lulled by his warmth and nearness and the scent of him all around her, and tried to forget her sadness as she drifted off into an uneasy slumber. 

She woke only a few hours later, her face mashed into the crook of Trevor's neck and her arms loosely wrapped around his waist. Somehow she had turned around in her sleep, and his fingers were pressing to her back protectively. Their legs were so convoluted that she couldn't manage to extricate herself from the tangle of limbs they'd become without waking him up, which she reluctantly did; he looked so peaceful. 

He had opened his eyes blearily, then had mumbled something intelligible, leaning forward and kissing her. She returned it, fingers cupping his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble on the pads of her fingertips. She never tired of kissing Trevor; his technique was a little on the messier side, but she rather enjoyed the way his tongue slid against hers as she pulled away. 

She'd always thought that if she'd ever kissed Alucard, he'd be more gentle, more sophisticated, the way he was for everything else. That he would hold her face between his long-fingered hands, that he would lean down since he was so much taller, that he would taste like gold and softness and silk. 

And while the thought had once made butterflies swarm in her stomach and a happy blush steal across her cheeks, now it only brought with it a sharp stab of pain and disappointment. They had come back for him—for _him_ , and only him. They had realized how empty everything had been without him, how incomplete their relationship felt without him. 

He'd looked so empty, so blank. It was terrifying, as if someone had replicated her Alucard, _their_ Alucard—had replicated him down to the last strand of burnished golden hair, but had forgotten to add what made him so extraordinary—his emotion, his odd quirks and rare smiles, his soft laugh and everything that made him human. 

"Come on, we'll be late," Trevor said, peering into the mirror and tugging at his hair. Apparently giving up, he merely ran an impatient hand through it and stepped away, holding out a hand. Once she took it, they left the room together, moving down the stairs. Their footsteps were loud and echoed in the hallways, and she felt a sort of helplessness that made her want to run all the way back to her caravan and never come out again. 

"It's easy to get lost in here," said a sudden voice, and both of them jumped, turning to see Alucard, standing at the bottom of the steps. His arms were crossed across his chest, and perhaps it was her imagination, but he looked, if possible, even more gaunt now, as if his skin was stretched tightly over the bones of his face. 

"It takes some getting used to, staying here," he went on. "I assume you were looking for the dining room?"

Trevor glanced fleetingly at Sypha. "Uh—yeah."

"Right this way." He turned fluidly, once again not waiting for them as he strode away. They stumbled down the steps, then managed to catch up, Sypha clutching her robes in her hands so as not to trip. "I hope you rested well?" he asked, without turning back to look at them. "I imagine you were quite tired."

"We're fine now," Sypha said, trying to keep the waver out of her voice. "But enough talk about us—how have you been, Alucard?"

For a moment his steps faltered, and he shook his head slightly, almost an involuntary twitch of a movement. "I've been all right," he said, and his voice was chilly. "There's been plenty to do, here and in the Belmont Hold. Enough to keep me busy, anyway." 

"Horrible weather, isn't it?" asked Trevor, gesturing at the ceiling. "How long has it been raining like this?"

A strange expression stole over Alucard's face, one that seemed equal parts confused and distant. "I... I'm not... a few... days. Yes, a few days now. I'm not entirely sure how many." He appeared to be lost in thought, his eyes trained on the floor. "But it's dry inside," he said after a while. "Mostly, anyway. There are still some rooms that need to be rebuilt, I... must take care of those someday..." 

He shook his head again, as if to clear it of flies. "Here's the dining room," he said as they drew up to a massive set of double doors. "It's not the cleanest, but I wasn't expecting company so... so soon."

 _Soon?_ It had nearly been a year. She sent him a sideways frown, but he didn't appear to notice it; he seemed too absorbed in the task of opening the doors, pushing them in a screech of rusted hinges as he did. She could see the ripple of muscle that was his biceps even beneath the thin white cotton of his shirtsleeves, the deceptive leanness of his form hiding his strength. 

"I must confess to never having stepped foot in here after you left," Alucard said, walking inside. His voice echoed, distorted almost in the vast hall. It was dark, murky light spilling in from the high windows that were set far into the ceiling. The space was taken up by a massive table, one so long that it stretched all the way from one end of the hall to another.

They sat at the table, even if it was more than a little dusty and maybe even a little moldy—with Alucard at the head of the table and Trevor and Sypha on either side of him. She couldn't help but think that it was the way a king and his consorts sat at the table this way, one on the right and the other at the left. 

There was a brief silence, and finally Alucard broke it. He was sitting with his long legs crossed one over the other, his fingers steepled under his chin, elbows resting on the table's surface. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and perhaps it was merely the murky light that spilled into the room, but they seemed duller. 

"So you came back," he said. He sounded flat, devoid of emotion. 

"Yeah," replied Trevor, leaning back in his chair, the front legs lifting off the ground. "It's been a while, but—"

"It must have taken you quite a while to get here from wherever you were," he said, cutting across Trevor calmly. "Didn't it?"

Trevor glanced briefly at Sypha. "It took us a week or so—not too long, but the road is rough between there and here." He leaned forward again, the legs of the chair meeting the ground again with an audible clack. "Look, we know it's been a long time, but we're here now. We're here, Alucard."

He twitched almost involuntarily at the sound of his name being spoken, and with a jolt she realized that it was probably the first time he'd heard it said by another person to him since they'd left. His flinty golden eyes fell on Trevor, latching onto him with something almost like disdain. 

"That's not my name," he said shortly. "Not anymore."

"What do you—?"

"I go by Adrian now." He laid both palms flat on the table, inhaling deeply. "I left Alucard behind after I killed my father." A muscle in his cheek jumped as he said the words. "He died with him."

"Adrian, then," Trevor said, albeit cautiously. His eyes were wary, his lower lip curling downwards in a familiar expression of concern. "We're sorry we couldn't be here sooner, but—"

"We needed to find my people," cut in Sypha, scooting forward. "And once we did, we had to read our story into our memory stores so that people could remember it, and that took a while as well. We moved around quite a bit with the caravan along with that, and that took some time too..."

"You read our journey into your memory stores?" He sounded almost surprised, and Sypha nodded. "Well, I did my best to recount everything that happened since I met Trevor in Gresit, and I'm sure I did a terrible job, but—"

"Oh, spare us the modesty," said Trevor, grinning at her from across the table. "She's brilliant. She made it sound even better than it actually was, and she made about four Speakers faint at the end of it all. It can really boost a man's self-esteem. I felt about ten times better than I am just sitting there listening to her."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, and Sypha blushed. "Well, I'll tell it to you someday," she said. "Sooner rather than later, I hope."

"Well, after that we went along just bouncing around the countryside for a while," continued Trevor, sliding a small, clever little blade from his boot and spinning it expertly in his palm before catching it deftly by the blade. "And... then we reached Braila."

Sypha leaned across the table, biting her lip. "That's where the problems started," she said. "Because Braila—"

"Is the city from where you dragged this castle here when you cast that spell in the Belmont Hold," finished Adrian. "Yes, I know."

"Well..." She sighed. "It seems that we've got a bit of a problem. Do you happen to recall the names of all the vampire generals in your father's War Council?"

He frowned, eyes darkening. "I can certainly try to."

"Do you know who the vampire ruler of Styria is?" tried Trevor, raising a hopeful eyebrow. "Does it ring any bells?"

His eyes darkened further. "I know who it is," he said carefully. "But I fail to see what this has to do with anything."

"The general got away," said Trevor. "He's heading back to Styria with all his generals in tow, and they're probably halfway there by now. The general betrayed your father, stranded the castle here, and left. Apparently to continue destroying the world. We don't know."

" _She_ ," Adrian said faintly, his frown deepening. 

"What?" Trevor's brows drew together.

"The general of Styria is a woman. Her name is Carmilla," Adrian said by way of explanation. "I haven't formally met her, but I've heard plenty. They used to tell me she was my biggest competition should I ever have followed in my father's footsteps; apparently she's clever, cunning and thrice as evil as Dracula was." He shrugged. "I don't know how far that's true, but if she could strike such fear in the hearts of the mightiest of generals, then perhaps she is a force to be reckoned with indeed." 

"Well, they say she got away with a Devil Forgemaster," Sypha said. "We don't know if that's true or not, since that would mean she's traveling with a human—"

"No," said Adrian. "It's true. It has to be. There were two Forgemasters here, in the castle. They were the ones creating the night hordes. They were who my father went to after my mother's death, to avenge her. One is missing, and that means the other has to be with Carmilla."

"Any idea who it might be?" asked Trevor. 

"Hector," said Adrian softly. "It must be Hector. Isaac is—was—too loyal to my father to go against him."

Trevor and Sypha exchanged a look. "You know them?" Sypha asked carefully.

"We're acquainted," he said shortly. "So... what? They left Braila, heading for Styria, to resume my father's plan of obliterating humanity?"

"Yeah," said Trevor. "Basically. And we could use your help. Just like old times, right? There's an evil vampire overlord—or, in this case, an overlordess, if that's a thing—and we need to go kick some demonic undead ass."

Adrian's gaze turned even colder. "So you came here asking for my help," he said slowly. "You're here because you need me again." That muscle in his cheek jumped again. "Would you ever have come back if you didn't?" he asked softly. 

"Of course we would have!" The words came out louder than Sypha had intended, and she forced her voice down with an effort. "We came back for you, Adrian, nothing else—this is just in the way, that's all—"

"No, it isn't," he said. "You're here because you know you can't fight this war alone, and you need me—for my power and strength, and nothing else. Perhaps you thought of me once or twice while you were away, but what have I ever been to you besides the son of the vampire you were going to kill?" His breathing turned heavy and labored. "What have I ever been to you besides _Alucard?_ "

"It's not like that," Sypha said, feeling a sort of numb horror spread through her. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She had ached for him every single day, ached to run to him, to hear his voice, to kiss him and tell him that she was nothing without him. But how could she say that now? "It isn't."

His lips twisted. "You're right; it's worse. I thought perhaps you'd forgotten about me, forgotten me in each other and found happiness, and I would have preferred it if you had stayed together, and not burdened yourselves with me."

"You're not a burden," Trevor said, shaking his head. "You never have been, and you never will—what the hell are you saying, Adrian? Why are you saying these things?"

"Because you _left me behind!_ " His control finally broke, cracking explosively in a sudden torrent. He stood almost violently, sending his chair skittering backwards, where it slammed against the wall and toppled with a crash. He hardly seemed to notice as he clenched his shaking hands into fists, his eyes wild. "You left me here, alone in the place where I murdered my own father, and you went off together, and I—" The words seemed to choke off in his throat, and he was breathing hard. 

"It was so clear that you only needed each other," he said, his voice shaking. "That what you both felt for each other was something that did not and would not ever extend to me. I understood that. But this—coming back here now, after so long—and with you two so clearly in a separate space of your own—I couldn't—I can't—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair, clenching his jaw. 

"No, it's not what you think," Sypha pleaded, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She fought it down furiously. "We didn't realize what you'd gone through, Adrian, how were we to know? You never told us—"

"So you assumed I was fine after I staked my own father?" He choked on a bitter laugh. "After I watched him die, just like I watched my mother die? You think anyone would be all right after that?"

"You acted like everything was fine," Trevor said, his shoulders tense. He looked as if he were readying himself for a fight. "You never said a word, not when we were on the way here or when we got here, or after. You let us think it was okay to let you stay here for a while."

"Three days," Adrian said softly, shaking his head. His eyes had gone totally flat and glittering, like a snake's. "Three days after the battle you stayed here, three days of which you both spent outside, as far away from here as you could get. And then you tell me it's time for you to go. And I—I'd been a fool to think you'd stay longer than that, and an even bigger fool for ever thinking you could—" He swallowed hard. "And now, when you finally return after God knows how long, it's because you need me. Not because you want me." 

Sypha could only stare, her lips parted but all the words she wanted to say dying at her lips. He had shattered, perhaps irreparably, and there were too many shards to put back together, too many broken pieces that cut her hands when she tried to pick them up. And she had done it—she had broken him like this, and she hadn't even known.

"You shouldn't have come back here," he said finally, coldly, looking at them without a shred of remorse. "You should never have come back here. I wish you'd just stayed away from me like you did all these months. It would have done all three of us a great deal of good."

He turned away. "I wish you'd never come back," he said softly. "I wish you'd forgotten about me entirely and had never come back here ever again."

The words hit her like knives, one lodging into her stomach, the other sinking into her neck, and another piercing her heart. It hurt beyond anything she'd ever experienced, more than anything she had ever felt. She felt the lump in her throat grow until it was impossible to swallow, and then she was standing, her chair scraping backwards on the stone floor, leaving marks. 

She didn't even look where she was going as she turned and left, the doors slamming shut behind her as she fled blindly. She didn't even look as she did, running back towards the entrance hall and the rain, needing to get away from everything. She thought she heard a voice call her name, but she didn't look back, and she didn't stop running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _'39_ by Queen, 1975.


	2. What Is This Thing That Builds Our Dreams, yet Slips Away From Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We'll bring him back," he said, and oddly enough, he meant it. "I swear to God, Sypha, I'm not leaving this place until we bring him back. And this time, we're going to stay, and we're going to fix this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, this is so early!! Next chapter is in the works, so it should be here by the weekend. I'm taking a little break from writing Out of the Woods, so that'll come in next week sometime; I have tests going on right now, and they're killing me. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this one! This one is a little heavy on angst, and also Adrian finally gets some of those cuddles I promised for him. ;)

The door slammed behind Sypha with an echoing boom, leaving a horrible, swelling silence behind in her wake. He called her name, hands clenching into fists, feeling something almost like panic claw its way up his throat.

Trevor had stood before he knew what he was doing, his body reacting before his mind did. He looked over at Adrian, half-disbelieving and half-cautious, wondering how and when this had happened, that who they had left behind in the castle had ceased to exist entirely, and only the ghost of his sadness remained. 

His face, moments ago twisted with anguish, was blank and emotionless again, as if that brief moment of vulnerability had passed. He saw his jaw clench, and then he turned away from Trevor, who took it as a wordless invitation. Casting one last look back at Adrian's turned back, he left the room. 

He knew the moment he stepped out where Sypha would have gone. She wouldn't go back to the room; it was too stuffy in there, too dark, too repressive. She would seek higher ground, the way she always did when she was scared or angry or upset. It had happened numerous times in the Speaker caravan—they'd fight, or something would upset her, and he'd look for her in vain for hours only to return to the camp and see her sitting on top of her caravan, looking up at the stars. 

He'd climbed up there beside her countless times, not saying anything but just letting her take her time. If she wanted to talk to him, she would. Sometimes they'd just sit in shared silence for hours before she'd take his hand and they'd go back. Sometimes she would talk, sometimes she would fall asleep with her head on his shoulder. But either way, whatever happened, they'd go through it together. 

But there was still something missing, still something lacking. Sypha would lean against his right shoulder and almost unconsciously leave just the right amount of space for another person. Trevor would sit with Sypha beside him but would brace his legs in front of him with just enough space to allow another in his embrace. They'd felt Adrian's absence since the first day they'd left. 

He moved towards the entrance hall, rapidly descending the staircase and fetching up in the massive hall where they'd stormed the castle all those months ago. There were still smears of blood on the walls, scratches on the floor, burn marks on the pillars. It was as if he hadn't exactly cared about taking care of the place, and had simply let it fall into disuse. Just as he had done for his own mind and body, he thought a little sadly.

He pushed the massive double doors open a crack, and immediately the wind gushed through it, howling and whistling so loudly that it nearly deafened him for a few seconds. He took a tentative step outside, leaving the doors open behind him as he did, knowing that once they closed, they'd never open again.

He caught sight of Sypha immediately—she was sitting on a fallen tree about three hundred yards from the steps, one that had evidently toppled because of the storm. It was still raining, but it wasn't as bad as it had been when they'd arrived; this was less of a downpour, and the wind wasn't as strong. The clouds weren't as low, and the air was clearer, though he could still hear the faint rumble of thunder. 

He moved over to her, and she was sitting with her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms looped around them, her chin resting on her knees. Her robes were wet from the rain, and there were droplets caught in her hair, which had darkened under all the water. She was looking down, and didn't even move as he approached, carefully sitting beside her on the fallen log. 

It continued to rain, and he was completely soaked through down to the bone now, but he didn't care. He thought he could actually feel the weight of his own sadness, the disappointment and the regret and the guilt in his stomach. He hated dwelling on his own thoughts, hated sitting still and just thinking. But at that moment he didn't think he'd be able to do anything else—all that filled his head was the sound of Adrian's voice, how it had cracked with strain, the sight of his shaking hands and his wild eyes. 

"We did this." Sypha finally spoke, her voice thick and trembling. He could hardly hear her over the rain. "We did this, Trevor—all of this is our fault. If we hadn't left him here, this wouldn't have happened."

"I know." He sounded hollow and empty to his own ears. 

She curled in on herself, shaking her head. "I missed him so much. I still miss him so much. I thought of him every single minute, Trevor. And now he doesn't even want us here."

"He didn't say anything," he said, gazing down at his hands, which were lying, still and useless, in his lap. "Not once. Even while we were traveling, he never mentioned anything, or told us how he felt. He didn't even try."

"But we were supposed to know," Sypha whispered. "We were supposed to be there anyway. We were on a mission to kill his _father_. How could anyone not feel conflicted about that? He'd just watched his mother die, and then when he tried to stop his father the first time, he was so brutally injured that he had to sleep for a whole year to heal. How could he have been all right?"

"I... I don't know." He felt helpless, and he hated feeling helpless; he was so terribly unprepared for these sort of situations. It wasn't exactly as if he could grab Vampire Killer and just whip away all their problems. Because, God, if he could do that, then he would. He would do anything for them—both of them. 

"I want him back," she said. 

They were such simple words, but they hit him like a battering ram either way. He could feel every inch of her loss when she said it, feel every inch of her regret and wistfulness and sadness. Because he wanted him back, too. More than anything. 

She finally lifted her face, and her eyes were swimming with tears, with glimmering tracks tracing their way down her cheeks. There were raindrops caught in her coppery lashes, spangling every individual brushstroke of them. He hadn't ever seen her cry like this—and he knew he would do everything in his power to make sure she never did again. 

He couldn't say the words—they stuck in his throat, and he knew he'd jumble it all up if he tried to say them. So instead he slid off the log, kneeling in front of her and putting his arms around her, holding her as tightly as he could, hoping that she understood the unspoken language of the gesture. 

And she did—she curled into the circle of his arms, her fingers fisting into the back of his shirt, nearly hard enough to rip the fabric. She was shaking, and he could feel it, all through his body, that horrible wracked shaking that came with the knowledge that there was nothing you could possibly do to make it better. 

"He's gone," she whispered, and as the words left her mouth, he heard a sob. "I loved him and now he's gone."

He thought he could actually feel something inside him crack when she said the words, something that cracked and shattered into a trillion pieces. He only held her tighter against him, pressing his face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and the rain that was still falling all around them, knowing that she was the only thing holding him together. 

"We'll bring him back," he said, and oddly enough, he meant it. "I swear to God, Sypha, I'm not leaving this place until we bring him back. And this time, we're going to stay, and we're going to fix this."

She let out another sob, her arms tightening around him. "I know," she said, and he felt her shuddering apart in his arms, the force of her grief and that faint, small, ember of hope that lay just out of reach. And in that moment, they were crouching entwined on the ground as the rain cascaded down around them, the only survivors of a distant shipwreck, stranded on a lonely, forgotten shore. "I know."

* * *

He heard Trevor's heartbeat get fainter and fainter, until it faded from the air entirely. The moment it did he felt his fingers unclench, his shoulders loosening, all the tension in his body uncoiling at once. 

He sagged against the table, breathing heavily. He could hardly even remember what he said—he had simply let his grief get the better of him, let the anger take over and pluck the words from a dark, forgotten place inside him where he sank to on the worst days. They had spilled from his lips almost against his will, and he had felt a horrible, perverse satisfaction knowing what his words had done to them. 

_Let them feel the same pain you did,_ a voice in his head had whispered. _Let them know what they did to you. Make them understand._

And then came the regret. The remorse. The urge to run after them and beg them for forgiveness, to tell them that he was sorry, that it was his fault they had left, that it was his fault that he had not let them help him. 

He forced his heartbeat to slow, his breathing to even. He swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table for support. It wasn't working, though; he could still feel the edges of darkness pervade his vision, the sweet stench of old memories and panic and fear and anger and sadness. 

He could still see the bright blue of Sypha's eyes in his mind, the way they caught the sunlight and shimmered like the surface of the ocean that rippled with the wind. But here there was no sunlight, and this time they had been shining with tears. He remembered the last time he had seen her eyes that close, the way they had glimmered under the sky like faceted gems. The touch of her hands, the softness of her voice, the weight of her words—and suddenly it was too late. The memory was thrust upon him, vivid and so painfully real, drowning him in the recesses of his own mind as he spun away into the dark. 

_"Be well, my friend," she said, taking his hands in her own. Her fingers were so much smaller than his, so much more delicate—but he had seen how a flick of those slender fingers could harness fire and tame ice. He could feel their warmth, encasing his own cold ones. He wished her well, and as if from a distance heard himself tell her not to let that idiot—Trevor—get her into too much trouble. She laughed, and he had never heard a more beautiful sound. She looked over at Trevor, standing by the wagon, and there was something in her face that was never there when she looked at him. Something that made him feel hollow inside, and a stab of pain go through him. She looked back at him and smiled, and he wanted to break and tell her not to go, that he needed her and Trevor, that he knew he would go mad without them. But he merely smiled back at her, dreading the moment when he'd have to let her go, and felt another helpless twinge when she looked over her shoulder again and said, "Well, maybe just enough trouble..."_

"No!" 

He cried out, twisting away from the pain of the memory. That horrible weight was back, pressing down onto his chest, crushing him beneath the force of it. His father's hands were around his throat again, cutting off his breath, and he was choking silently, clawing at his throat as tears streamed down his face. 

He had fallen to his knees as the memory had forced its way into his mind, completely taking over him, and he could feel bruises forming where he'd fallen. He tried to inhale, but the hands wouldn't let him, delighting in his weak efforts and his panic as he tried and failed again and again to breathe. 

He clawed at his throat again, choking and sobbing, leaving bloody scores on his skin, gouging raw marks into his neck, blood spattering onto the stone in front of him. "Please," he gasped, what little air he had rattling in his throat. "Please—"

 _Let go,_ murmured a soft voice in his head. It was his mother's voice, low and soothing and caressing, the way she had spoken to him when he was very small. His father's hands were around his throat choking him, and his mother's voice was in his ear whenever he did. In a way, they'd never really left him, though it was a twisted, wrong way. _Give up, Adrian. Just give up._

"No," he whispered. "I can't. I can't—"

 _Why not?_ his mother asked, so softly, so tenderly. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside. _What is in this world that makes you fight so hard to stay in it?_

" _Them,_ " he choked out. "Trevor—and Sypha—"

 _What have they brought you but pain and suffering?_ Her voice was still so gentle. _They left you here, alone._

"My—my fault—"

_No, not yours. Never yours, Adrian._

"Never—never told them—"

_They should have seen your pain. If they truly cared about you, they would have seen it and stayed behind._

"I hid it—hid it from them—they couldn't have known—"

_Look at what they've done to you. You blame yourself for their shortcomings, and you pay the price for their cruelty. Let them go, Adrian. Forget them._

A growl scraped past his throat, and his nails, sharpening into long, deadly claws, scoured into the stone at his feet, leaving six deep, parallel scratches in the floor. They pooled with blood where his nails tore from their beds, but he hardly felt the pain of it. 

"No," he said. 

The crushing weight lifted suddenly from his chest, and he gasped for breath, his vision clearing as he sank onto the ground, his bleeding hands braced on the floor as he dragged in lungful after lungful of air. His head spun, his stomach roiling with nausea as he returned to his body, once again able to control it. His mother's voice was gone, as were his father's hands.

As he slowly regained himself, he felt a searing, burning pain at his throat where he'd clawed desperately for breath, and dried blood crusted his skin. His nails were cracked and broken as well, which sent bolts of pain through his fingers. He winced, leaning against the table for balance. 

This was by far the worst attack he'd ever had—and it was close to the previous one he'd had earlier that day, too close. It wasn't the first time he'd unintentionally harmed himself; there was that one time he'd put his hand through a mirror while trying to find something to hold on to as he dissolved into the memories, and the other time he had struck his head on the edge of the bed so hard he nearly got a concussion as he fell. 

He stood shakily, careful not to trigger another secondary attack by moving too quickly. He stumbled to another chair and sat down, still trembling slightly. He had, strangely enough, broken out of it himself this time, which he never did—usually he merely waited for it to ease on its own, let it come down gradually. But this time he'd fought back. He'd clung to the thought of Trevor and Sypha, and he had broken free. 

And he knew why. He knew why, but the thought itself made him push it away the moment it entered his mind. And if they ever found out what he thought... they'd be horrified, disgusted, repulsed—he was sure of it. They had no place for someone like him. 

All at once, every bit of his energy drained from his body, and an overwhelming wave of fatigue crested over him. He slumped in the chair, closing his eyes, and put his face in his hands.

* * *

Sypha was asleep, her small body curled up next to his and her fingers bunched in the coverlet he'd spread over her. They had spent nearly the whole evening just sitting, saying nothing, and Sypha had eventually cried herself to sleep, salty tracks still glimmering on her cheeks. 

Trevor couldn't sleep, though. 

He'd drifted off once, but had woken in a cold sweat after a terrible dream—Adrian had been trying to talk to him, to tell him something, with blood streaking down his face instead of tears and his hands tied behind his back. But he hadn't been able to speak, no words coming out even as he shaped them, blood spattering on the ground at his feet. Finally, the whites of his eyes had bled through, turning blood-red, and when his lips parted next, all that had come out was more blood.

He had woken with a start, and hadn't been able to go back to sleep since. He simply stared at the ceiling, at the shifting shadows and listened to the storm die outside, giving way to a deafening silence that rang even louder in his ears than the storm had. 

He swung his legs out of the bed, scrubbing at his face. Careful not to wake Sypha, he got dressed as quietly as he could and left the room, pausing to draw the door closed softly behind him as he did. Stepping away from it, he set off down the corridor, no particular destination in mind—simply going where his legs carried him. 

The castle was dark and massive, and he felt oddly alone walking along the long corridors, separated from the rest of the world and impossibly far from another living being. He wondered if this was how Adrian had felt when they had left him—cold and alone and small. Another twinge of guilt dug into his insides, and he sighed as he turned another corner, expecting to come out at another corridor. 

Instead he found himself at a massive, arched doorway, one that was thrown open to let in the night air and moonlight. It was a balcony of sorts, one that opened up on one of the connecting bridges that linked the different turrets of the castle. It was built from tough, unyielding stone, and the bridge dripped gothic metalwork. The other side of the bridge was so far away he could hardly see anything but the huge turret that lay there, cold and unmoving in the night air. 

He stepped out onto the bridge and the wind surrounded him immediately, caressing him as a lover would and whispering in his ear, trailing its cold fingers down his arms and making goosebumps break out on his skin. He could see the sky above him—considerably closer above him than it usually was, owing to how high up the bridge was—a deep, fathomless blue, and swirling white clouds that hid the stars. 

He walked along the bridge, trailing his hands over the freezing metal rails as he did. It numbed his fingers, but he hardly cared as he moved along, head down against the cold wind that the sky breathed onto him. As he neared the middle of the bridge, he slowed, then stopped short—someone was already there, standing at the rail and gazing out over the forest that undulated like a rustling emerald sea at their feet. 

Adrian didn't seem to be dressed for the cold, in only a plain white shirt and pants as was his usual garb, one hand encircling the metal railing. The cold of it didn't seem to reach his skin, however. His golden eyes were cast downwards, his face set in harsh, forbidding lines. His shoulders were slumped slightly, as if even the task of standing silently was a demanding one. 

"What are you doing up?" he asked as Trevor approached, without looking up at him. "It's late, and it's chilly here."

"Couldn't sleep." He drew up beside him, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he did. "What about you?"

He merely lifted a shoulder. "I often roam about at night. It's proven an eventful pastime, since I've discovered many things that had earlier been hidden."

"Like what?"

"Passages. Books. Labs." He sliced a hand through the air dismissively. "Even vats of animal blood down in the cellar, evidently to sate the War Council as they purged the lands of their only means of proper sustenance. As I said earlier, there's plenty to do here, and down at your old home as well."

"How're the state of things down there?" He blew on his hands to warm them, frowning sideways at Adrian, who nodded, still not looking at him. "I've gotten most of the work done there. I've managed to build a proper staircase that leads down, along with passages that connect the castle and the Hold. I've fixed the shelves that were broken, and replaced the books that had fallen. I unfortunately ran afoul of some of your ancestors' more cleverly made traps, though."

"Seriously? Those things still work?" He snorted. "So what, you got pelted by silver dinner plates and cutlery, or what?"

"Well, a rather impressive collection of silver jewelry did attempt to strangle me," he acknowledged. "But the oddest, and most remarkable by far was definitely the vat of moldy garlic soup that was upended over me when I went into the more restricted section about vampires."

The accompanying mental image of Adrian shrieking as a pot of thousand-year-old garlic soup was poured over his head was enough to make him laugh harder than he had in days, and it even pulled a tight-lipped smile from Adrian himself, who tapped a finger against the rail with a small, sharp _ping._

"Well, what happened?"

"Let's just say it was an unpleasant experience," he said. "It took weeks to get rid of the smell, and I was still combing cloves out of my hair for days afterward. I don't have that aversive a reaction to garlic as a full-blooded vampire does, so no lasting damage occurred, though I definitely got more cautious after that. I checked before walking anywhere, particularly places with information about vampires."

"Huh. You'll have to take us down there someday, show us what you've finished." 

"You're both welcome to go down there whenever you like. It's your old home, after all." He sounded polite and formal, but there was a sort of distance in the words that made him wonder.

"Yeah, but I gave it to you." He rubbed a finger on the stone of the bridge. "I'm glad you took care of it," he said shortly. "At least now it has a purpose, and a caretaker." Then he paused, steeling himself for the words he was about to say next. "Look, Adrian—I'll say it again, and I'll keep saying it, but—we are sorry we left." Ignoring the way Adrian stiffened as the words left his mouth, he plowed on. "We wanted to come back the moment we left, but—"

"Then why didn't you?" He was totally rigid now, his knuckles whitening on the rail. "Why did you go so soon?"

"There were things to do, people to see. I know that sounds ridiculous, but the people had to be sorted out after all the night hordes went back to whatever hell they came from, and all the cities and villages were a total mess. We needed to let people know that Dracula was dead and they were safe, and then we had to find the Speakers..."

"I understand that. But you're here because of Carmilla and Hector. If you hadn't gone to Braila, where would you be now? Would you ever have come back?"

"We would have," he said. "We came here—we knew we wanted to come here for a long time, and it was because—well, we knew that—I mean—" God, it was so fucking hard to say it. But in what universe would those words ever be easy to say? He couldn't exactly say, _We came back because we realized halfway across the country that we were both in love with you and also we were both miserable, so how would you like to be a part of our magical demon-slaying threesome?_

"See?" Adrian turned away, lips twisting. "It was all for nothing—everything I did to try and distance myself from you, and nothing worked. And then you decided to go off by yourselves, and I should have been happy. But I—I was more selfish than I had originally thought."

"No," said Trevor, wondering why he was so bad at this. "No, it's not—"

"How long have the two of you been together?" 

The question was so sudden, so out of place, that Trevor was shocked into silence. There was a sort of raw pain in his voice, one that sounded like every word in that question had caused him unspeakable agony as he'd said it. "I—what?"

"You and Sypha. How long has it been since the two of you began a relationship?" He turned fully towards Trevor now, and his amber eyes were wide and helpless, his lips slightly parted. God _damn_ , Trevor really wanted to kiss him. Then he immediately slapped himself inwardly as soon as he thought it. He was _not_ supposed to be thinking about kissing Adrian now. Especially now. 

"I—why does it matter?" he spluttered, baffled. "We're here because we—"

"It doesn't matter. You're right." He cut across Trevor coldly. "The two of you are probably happier off without me anyway—"

"You made her cry today," Trevor snapped, interrupting him right in the middle of his sentence. He had no idea why he said it, and it was probably the most tactless thing to have come out of his mouth in the last twenty years, but his anger had gotten the better of him briefly. 

Adrian froze. "What?"

"Sypha," said Trevor. "Earlier today, what you said—you made her cry, and Sypha _never_ cries. I found her outside, sitting in the rain, and she was crying her eyes out. She cried all evening, and she was so exhausted that she fell asleep right after."

"I..." Adrian looked deeply perturbed. "I didn't... I didn't realize."

"Well, now you know. So maybe before you go on telling us how we've hurt you, stop for a second and think of how what you say might hurt us, too."

Adrian flinched, and Trevor had never seen him flinch before. "I... you're right. I'm sorry. What I said was deeply hurtful, I understand that." He bit his lip, turning away, and Trevor saw dozens of thin white scratches all over his throat, disappearing down into the collar of his shirt. They caught the moonlight, and they looked faded, but livid and painful. And they hadn't been there earlier that day. 

"What happened here?" He stepped forward, ignoring the little voice in his head telling him to step back, and reached out to settle a careful hand on Adrian's neck. "They weren't there earlier."

Adrian sucked in a breath when Trevor touched him, his eyes half-closing. His hands clenched, then loosened, and he noticed with another pang of worry and unease that his nails were cracked, and dried blood was crusted underneath them in bloody crescents. Almost unconsciously, he moved closer, like a sort of protective gesture. He could feel the cold of Adrian's skin, and see the way his chest barely rose and fell as he breathed. 

"It's nothing," he said softly, his eyes opening, like pools of honey in the snow. "You needn't worry."

"Of course I have to worry." He shifted a step closer, and Adrian's breath hitched. Obeying an instinct that ran all the way down to his bones, he let it take over, let it guide his fingers, which gently stroked along Adrian's neck, following the graceful sweep of his throat up to his jaw. A soft moan spilled from his lips, his eyes closing. 

"What about your hands?" He slowly reached down with his other hand, lacing their fingers together and bringing their entwined hands to his lips. "What happened, Adrian?"

His cheeks were flushed, his eyes still closed. He leaned into Trevor's touch, straining towards the intimacy. "I—I don't—I can't—"

"God, what are you doing to yourself?" He pressed his lips lightly to Adrian's fingers, and he saw the vulnerable line of his throat move as he swallowed. "Why do you hurt yourself like this?"

"I don't know," he breathed, the pulse in his neck fluttering wildly. "I—I can't help it." His eyes snapped open, latching onto Trevor with a thinly controlled hunger gleaming in them, turning them luminescent and lustrous and wild. "Please," he whispered, and Trevor knew what he wanted. "Please—"

He moved even closer, pressing Adrian back against the railing, pulling him flush with his own body. "Do you want me to touch you?" he breathed, and Adrian exhaled harshly, shaking like a leaf in the wind. " _Yes_ ," he whispered. 

He leaned forward, allowing his instincts to take over entirely, controlling his body, guiding him closer and closer to Adrian. His lips just touched his cheek, encountering soft, cool skin, and he heard Adrian say his name, breathless and desperate. His arm slid down, curling around his waist—too narrow, too angular—and pulling him closer as he slid his lips down to Adrian's jaw, feeling him shudder under his touch. 

He felt Adrian's fingers bunch in his shirt, his heart slamming in his chest, which was pressed to Trevor's. He wondered how long it had been, since someone had last touched him like this, worshiped every inch of his skin and revered him for the beautiful, fragile creature he was. He tipped his head back, another quiet moan sliding past his lips as Trevor mouthed gently as his pulse, pressing featherlight kisses to his throat, to each scratch he had made in his alabaster skin. 

"I don't want you to hurt yourself like this again," he murmured against his skin, cutting his eyes up to Adrian's, which were closed, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed a hectic pink. "Please, don't do this to yourself." He tilted his head, his arm tightening around Adrian's waist as he pressed him further against the railing, kissing his neck. 

" _Trevor_ —" He gasped, his back arching. "We can't—not now—"

"Why not?" He pressed another soft kiss to the curve between his neck and shoulder, the seamless sweep of his skin. He smelled like blood and dust and stone, but it was still intoxicating all the same. 

"Sypha," Adrian said, guilt shimmering in his eyes as he opened them. "She—"

"We both came back for _you_ , you idiot." He stroked a thumb across his hip, leaning closer, feeling Adrian shiver beneath him. "When will you get that through your thick skull? We came back for you, because _we love you._ "

And with that, he raised his head, leaned forward, and kissed him. 

Adrian's fingers clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer, savagely. His lips were soft and full, and he kissed Trevor like he was drowning, like he was drowning and he could breathe only through him. Trevor's fingers pressed to his back, the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, the ridges of his spine. He was thin but strong, his arms pulling Trevor closer, his fingers shaking. 

Trevor slid his hands beneath the hem of his thin white shirt, encountering smooth skin and hard muscle, bone and softness and silk. Adrian's lips parted as he gasped, and Trevor let his tongue sweep over the full curve of his lower lip, seeking entry, careful and gentle and cautious.

Adrian let him in, tilting his head and shuddering as Trevor's tongue stole between his lips, exploring his mouth, tasting and taking and savoring. He'd clearly never been kissed like this before; he was whimpering softly as Trevor pushed him back against the railing even further, fingers splaying over his chest, rucking his shirt up. And when his tongue slid against Adrian's, softly and then again more firmly, he moaned into his mouth, his back arching into Trevor's chest. 

He deepened the kiss, closing his eyes, letting the feeling of Adrian's lips against his carry him on an aching swell of sensation. His fingers clenched in Trevor's hair, and he gasped for breath in between their kisses, which turned sloppier and messier with each one. And just as Trevor pulled back for air, his lip slid against Adrian's, and he felt a sudden, sharp prick, then a small starburst of pain.

Adrian yanked himself away, face flushed and eyes bright and lips swollen—and with a smear of red on his mouth. Trevor lifted a hand to his own lip, and it came away stained red with blood from a stinging cut; it must have been from Adrian's fangs, he thought, and saw his golden eyes tracking the blood that pooled at his lip. It collected into a single drop, which beaded at the cut, coppery and sharp. 

Adrian pulled him in again, fingers cupping the back of his neck as he fitted his lips to his, kissing him hungrily, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. He felt a sharp sting, then a faint pull as he licked the blood from the cut, his tongue swiping across Trevor's lip. A shock of pleasure traveled down his spine, and he let out a sigh against Adrian's mouth. 

He pulled away, and Trevor's blood was smeared on his lips, his eyes fever-bright and shimmering like molten gold. He felt the cut well up again, and a drop of blood rolled down his chin, spattering on the stone at his feet. 

Adrian stared down at it, the single drop of blood on the ground between them, his head cocked slightly to the side. He flinched again when another drop of blood struck the ground, almost as if he could hear it as it fell. He jerked away from Trevor suddenly, gasping, his eyes going wide and his face draining of color. 

"Adrian?" He grabbed his shoulders, but Adrian threw him off with a sudden, surprising strength, letting out a sharp cry like that of a frightened bird. He twisted away from Trevor, falling suddenly to his knees, clawing at the ground and moaning, his eyes rolling up into his head. He looked like he was having a seizure, his body shaking uncontrollably and his face full of pain.

"Adrian!" He dropped to his knees beside him, panic overtaking him. What on earth was happening? "Adrian, what's going on? What's—?" 

"No," Adrian moaned, tears gathering suddenly and alarmingly in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks and spattering on the ground like diamonds. "No, I don't want to," he sobbed, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. "I don't want to!"

"Adrian—"

His head snapped up and he looked at Trevor directly in the face, but his eyes were huge and sightless, staring right through him. There was no recognition in them at all. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want to kill you, I didn't want to, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Adrian, please—"

"Father, I didn't want to," he said, the tears still sliding down his cheeks. "I didn't want to do it. I had to. I didn't want to, please, forgive me, please—" He jerked back again as Trevor tried to put a hand on his shoulder, cringing away from his touch. He held his head in his hands, rocking back and forth, a jumble of unintelligible words spilling from his mouth. 

Panic choked Trevor, pure, unadulterated fear coursing through him. _Oh, God, what's happening to him? What's happening—_

Adrian gasped, and then his eyes opened, darting back and forth wildly. He looked up at Trevor, and he started at what he saw there—recognition, as if he had regained consciousness—but a sheer, intense panic over it, panic and fear and pain. He blinked, his eyes widening and his body tensing. 

He opened his mouth, as if to say something—and then he choked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Who Wants to Live Forever_ by Queen, 1986.


	3. I Could Give up All My Life for Just One Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I came back. I pulled myself from wherever my fear had taken me, and I did it—I did it because I wanted to see both of you one last time, even if I never lived to see the sun rise again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm posting so early nowadays. :')  
> Next chapter will incidentally take a while, since I have tests ending next week. But hope you enjoy this in the meantime!! Also the last line is a reference to Leigh Bardugo's _Crooked Kingdom_ , which is so beautiful. I just had to use it. *tears up*   
> Thanks to everyone who gave kudos and comments, y'all are the yee to my haw. <3
> 
> Explicit sex ahead, please drive carefully.

Trevor could see Adrian trying to breathe, his body shaking again, fingers moving to his throat as he did. Trevor lurched into action, taking him gently by the shoulders and rubbing his back firmly but not too firmly, murmuring soothing nonsense and trying to calm him down. Adrian was gasping shallowly, his face flushing a dark red, the veins on his throat standing out, harsh and livid. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his eyes overflowing, the moonlight silvering the tracks they made down his face.

He kept trying to inhale, but something seemed to be stopping him; he kept clawing at his throat, eyes widening, shallow gasps escaping his lips. Trevor grabbed his wrists before he could scratch his skin open again, keeping his arms at his sides, silently willing him to calm down. "Come on, Adrian, breathe," he kept saying, over and over, saying it like a prayer; softly, pleadingly. "Breathe."

"Trevor—" he gasped, choking. The tears still hadn't stopped. "Don't—I can't—let you see me like this—"

"I'm not leaving," he said, shaking his head. "Not until you breathe."

"Can't—breathe—" He twitched away from Trevor's hands again, wincing and clutching at his head as if it pained him suddenly. "No," he choked. "Shut up—"

"Adrian?" He peered anxiously into his face, flushed and sweaty and panicked. "Adrian, what's—"

"Stop," he hissed, his body shuddering. "Don't tell me—I won't listen—"

" _Adrian._ Focus—focus on my voice. Try to breathe, okay? Don't panic, just try. Don't panic."

Adrian shuddered again, stilling, still trying to gasp in air. Trevor tried to keep his voice as steady as possible when he spoke again. "Have I ever told you about that time I got my ass kicked before I came to Gresit?" 

Adrian shook his head, another rattling breath escaping him. 

"Well, I was traveling, and I'd been in the forest for ages—I hadn't had a drop of alcohol for weeks. And so I decided, fuck it, I'm going to spend what little coin I had left on getting myself so drunk I'd forget my own name. So I stopped at this shitty little village, which was incidentally full of shitty little people, by the way—and I went to the local tavern and bought a drink or two..."

He kept his voice steady as he talked, and Adrian went totally still, only his chest hitching up and down as he listened, focusing intently on Trevor's voice. The tears had stopped, leaving drying trails of salt on his cheeks. He was rocking back and forth, eyes closed, hanging onto every word Trevor said.

It went on for what felt like forever—the gasping and the talking and the rocking. Finally, after almost fifteen minutes Trevor finished talking, his little anecdote coming to an end. He waited, his breath catching in his throat—and then Adrian coughed, breathing deeply, all the tension suddenly going out of him. 

He slumped backwards onto Trevor, eyes closed, slowly inhaling and exhaling, his skin losing its blotched color and returning to his normal pallor. He closed his eyes, and for a full two minutes he did nothing but breathe, carefully releasing every breath as if worried it would be his last. 

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said finally, minutes later. His voice was thin and weak, and he swallowed. "I wasn't expecting another attack so soon."

"Another?" He slid his arm around Adrian's shoulders, carefully sitting next to him. "What do you mean, another?"

Adrian looked down at the ground, legs sprawled, looking completely defeated. "I... every day since the two of you left, I've been having these... these periods where my mind sort of forces me to relive some of my... less pleasant memories, and I black out while it happens. But when I come to, I can't breathe, and there's this sort of uncontrollable panic that I can't subdue. It dies down slowly, but..." He shrugged. "I'm used to it now."

He exhaled, looking down at his hands. "Usually something external triggers a memory, and it drowns me entirely. This time it was your blood, the way it fell—the same way my father's did, the day I killed him. I could even hear it fall, the same way. It... it proved to be too much."

Another hollow pang went through Trevor's chest. "This is our fault," he said, and all of a sudden, as if the past hour had only just caught up with him, he felt all the fight drain out of him. He slumped next to Adrian, a hand fisting in his hair as the backs of his eyes burned. "We did this—we left you here. God, I'm so sorry, Adrian."

"No, it's not your fault." Adrian scooted closer, laying his head on Trevor's shoulder, his long legs hooking over Trevor's knee so that he was sprawled half-on top of him like a giant cat. "I made you think it was, but it isn't. You weren't to know—I distanced myself purposefully, and I paid the price."

"But it doesn't change the fact that we left you alone. It was such a dick move." He sighed. "If I could go back—"

"Please, don't start with all that." He leaned up, hesitated, then kissed him almost tentatively. He made to pull away, but Trevor threaded his fingers through his silky blond curls, holding him there. He resurfaced a few minutes later, and Adrian was blushing. "You're here now," he said. "And that's all that matters to me." He nestled his head into Trevor's shoulder again. 

Trevor felt his eyes slipping closed. "I meant what I said earlier, you know," he said. 

"Hmm?"

"We do love you. Both of us."

There was silence for a few seconds. Then, when Adrian spoke again, Trevor could hear his smile.

"I know," he said softly. "And I love you too." Then, even more softly he said, "Both of you."

* * *

Sypha woke slowly, one sense at a time. 

First she felt the warmth that was all around her, swathing her in pleasant, drowsy heat. She'd shucked off her robes before falling into bed the previous night, and had slept in only her thin silk shift, one that barely did anything to warm her, or cover her. Next came the smell of sweat and musk and dust, which was partly familiar and partly not. She wrinkled her nose, trying to make it out. Blood, and... Ink? Wood? Paper? Since when did Trevor smell like a library?

Her ears gained consciousness next, and she could hear Trevor's breaths, and—and another's breath as well. Her eyes snapped open, and she turned around so quickly the blankets twisted around her, and she came face to face with a fast-asleep Adrian. 

She couldn't help it. She shrieked. 

His eyes opened immediately, and Sypha stared, openmouthed, the blankets hitched up till her collarbone. " _Adrian?_ What on earth are you—what are you doing here?"

"Ah, Sypha—I can explain." He struggled into a sitting position, and she noted with interest that he was devoid of clothing above the waist. He was too thin, she thought immediately, emaciated almost. He looked like he hadn't been eating. Trevor poked his head from around Adrian's arm, blinking blearily. "Who died?" he slurred.

"Sypha was just a bit surprised to see me, that's all," Adrian said, twisting to look back at Trevor. 

"And rightly so, too," she protested, still staring at him. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been blank-faced and emotionless, telling them he wished they'd never come back. "I don't understand what's happening—"

"I couldn't sleep last night," Trevor said, sitting up next to Adrian. He, too, was shirtless, but at least she was used to the sight. But both of them sitting above her, both entirely bare from the waist upwards, was entirely unfair. They looked so different that way—Adrian was leaner, paler, with those golden tresses spilling down his shoulders and back, and the scar that stretched from shoulder to hip. And Trevor beside him, tanned and muscular, with numerous little scars peppering his skin and the dark hair that splayed across his chest and arrowed down to his stomach, disappearing beneath the waistline of his trousers. 

She tore her eyes away from both of them, focusing instead at their faces as she too sat up, still holding the sheets to her chest. "So?"

"So I went for a walk," he said offhandedly, "and ran into Adrian."

He explained how he'd come across the dhampir at the bridge, and how they'd talked, how Trevor had noticed the scars on his neck. When he went on to explain what happened after, Sypha raised an eyebrow.

"Well," she said. "That's one way to handle it."

Trevor grinned at her. "You're just jealous that I got to him first," he said. 

She huffed, pulling the sheets higher. "I am not."

"Sure you're not," he said, eyes glinting, then went on. "Well... that's sort of when things fucked up, though." He glanced at Adrian, who sighed, crossing his legs and gazing down at his hands in his lap. "I've been having some... problems, since the two of you left," he began. "It started the day after, and at first I thought I was hallucinating—the images were so real."

Her breath caught. "What do you mean?"

He looked up, his expression bleak. "It began after you left," he said, his voice hollow. "It was something so simple, silly almost—I was in the library, trying to reorganize the books and put them back in place, and there was a small mirror on one of the shelves. It was an accident—I knocked a few books over, and they fell onto the mirror, and it didn't fall—but it cracked."

He took a deep breath. "It was so sudden—one moment I was there in the library, holding the books and looking at the cracked mirror, and the next I was back in my room again, and I was killing my father all over again, and I put the stake through his heart, and I heard the mirror crack, the exact same way—" He broke off, looking away, his throat moving convulsively, as if he wanted to swallow but couldn't. "It was so real, and so vivid, that I lost all control of my own body and mind."

He looked down again. "When I finally came to, I was sitting on the floor, and I was back in my own body again, but I couldn't breathe." He exhaled. "I tried to, but it was as if someone was holding my throat, constricting my windpipe, and I couldn't do anything to release it. I felt like I was drowning—there was no air, and I kept trying to breathe, but it wasn't working."

He finally looked up at her again, and his eyes were tired and defeated. "I calmed eventually, but the first time took the longest. It eased after that, but there's always been something that triggers my memories every day—every single day." He choked on what could have been a laugh. "Every day since it happened, I've been reliving my father's death," he said. "I can't even count how many times I've killed him since he died."

"It wasn't your fault," Sypha said. "You had to do it—"

"That didn't make it any easier," he said, shaking his head. "It is the greatest sin, to commit patricide, to kill the man who gave me life. It's his blood that runs in my veins, his blood that gives me my strength and my power. And I murdered him in cold blood. I put a stake through his heart." He looked away, pain spreading across his face.

"I know," she said, her voice impossibly soft. "But you need to know that even if you feel guilt over what happened, in a way, you saved him." He made a soft noise when she said it, as if hearing those the words had caused him pain. "He had turned into something he wasn't, and you saved him from that."

"I..." He let out a shaky breath, twisting his fingers together. He looked torn, between what he thought was right and the horrible guilt that had eaten away at him for months. It was a wonder that there was anything left of him at all, she thought, and a spike of relief and sadness in equal measure drove through her stomach. 

She scooted over to him, dropping the covers so that they fell at her hips. She put a tentative hand on his shoulder and he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing. She couldn't even begin to imagine how starved for touch he was, for intimacy and closeness, with nothing but dust and ghosts to keep him company for so long. 

"We left you," she said, and the words were terrible when she said them aloud. "We were blind to your pain and we left. And we didn't realize what you'd gone through. No matter how many times we say it, we can never be sorry enough, Adrian—"

"No," he said. "No, we can't all keep blaming ourselves. We all had a part to play in this, but it would have been selfish of me to keep you here when there were more important things to do."

"More important than your mental well-being, sure," said Trevor. "The Speakers could have waited a bit longer, you know."

He closed his eyes, then opened them again. "You're here now," he said. "And I believe that now that you're here, I will be fine."

"You had three attacks in the span of six hours," said Trevor, and he sounded genuinely angry—that outraged, deep-rooted anger that only surfaced when someone they loved put themselves in danger, the anger that reached right into your heart and made you want to scream, because if something had happened to Adrian, she knew that Trevor would have torn entire mountains apart to save him. "That may be your definition of 'fine', but it isn't mine."

" _Three?_ " Sypha echoed, disbelieving. "In one day?"

"After you came," he muttered, looking at his hands again. 

"All the same memory?" Her hand tightened on his shoulder, and his eyes darkened in a familiar expression of defeat. "No—the first and last were the same one, but after you left the dining hall"—he nodded at Trevor—"I flashed back to the day the two of you left. In front of the wagon."

Sypha felt her breath hitch unevenly. "Why?" Her voice shook, and she knew that he had understood what she was asking. 

He held her gaze, and his eyes were steady when he spoke. "Because that is one of the most painful memories I have," he said simply. 

She felt her lip wobble, and she had to look away from him before she started crying again. She made to move her hand off his shoulder, her fingers curling into a fist. "Adrian, I—"

"It's painful," he said, grabbing her hand before she could remove it from his shoulder. He held it tightly, so tightly it almost hurt. "It is. But this time, something was different. Whenever I regain consciousness and I'm choking, and I can't breathe, I can hear my mother's voice in my head. Every single time, she tells me to stop trying. She tells me to let go. She tells me that this world has given me too much pain for me to want to be in it. She tells me to join her and my father, and I'll finally be forgiven."

She couldn't stop the tears that rolled down her face this time, and a small, choked sob escaped her mouth. But he plowed on, his eyes never leaving her face. "But this time, she was telling me to let go, and she asked me why I fought so hard to stay in the world when it had brought me only pain. And do you know what I told her?"

Another tear rolled down her cheek, and he pressed her hand tighter. "I told her that it was _you_. You and Trevor. It was the thought of you that made me want to survive. And I freed myself from my father's hands that choked me, and I had never broken free before. But this time, I did—and it was the thought of you that made me do it." 

His eyes were luminous and bright, unearthly and beautiful. "Don't you see, Sypha?" he whispered, his fingers lacing with hers, his other hand coming up to gently, tenderly wipe the tears from her cheeks. "I came back. I pulled myself from wherever my fear had taken me, and I did it—I did it because I wanted to see both of you one last time, even if I never lived to see the sun rise again."

He leaned forward, and his fingers stilled on her face. "I did it because the thought of leaving you was worse even than death," he said softly, his eyes moving over her face, soft and warm. "I did it because I love you," he whispered, and then he closed the distance between them and kissed her gently. 

It obliterated her. 

She felt like she was being torn into pieces, taken apart and destroyed, and then put back together, carefully, piece by piece, bit by bit. There was pain, and there was sadness and guilt, but above everything there was healing, and gentleness and a sort of all-encompassing _safety_ that made her feel as if her heart was growing in her chest, expanding outwards and filling her with hope and love. 

The kiss was soft, and slow and gentle, and it tasted like salt, but she didn't care; for what felt like years, she was suspended in a moment of pure bliss, feeling Adrian's lips on her own and his fingers on her cheeks. It was everything she had ever wanted it to be, but like nothing she had ever dreamed of. It was rebirth and care and promises. It was slow and blissful and calming. 

It was perfect. 

He drew away, and she sighed, her face still tilted up towards his, her lips still slightly parted. There were a thousand butterflies in her stomach, but she hadn't ever felt more calm in her life. 

"I should kiss you more often if it means it will stop your tears," he murmured, smiling at her, and she realized belatedly that she had stopped crying sometime in the last two minutes. She let out a laugh that was partly a sob, and then threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. 

If he was surprised at her sudden attack, he didn't show it; after half a second his strong arms caught her up against him, holding her to him almost protectively. He pressed his cheek to her hair as she inhaled the scent of him, letting it embed itself into her memory, not ever wanting to let him go. She held her tears back, squeezing her eyes shut, letting the solidity and warmth of him seep into her bones and allow a deep feeling of ease to spread through her body. 

She felt one of his arms unwrap itself from her waist, holding it out, and then she heard him say, "Come here, Belmont. There's room for three."

"Only if you don't get all sentimental on me," Trevor said, but his voice was soft, and she felt the mattress dip as he moved closer. Adrian's laugh rumbled through her chest, making her whole body vibrate. "No promises," he said. 

A moment later another pair of arms came around them, and she felt Trevor rest his chin on her shoulder. They all clung to each other on the bed, buried in each other's warmth and each other's safety, wordless promises conveyed through the press of hands and the sound of their breath, and the syncopated rhythm of all their hearts beating as one. 

"Now you have to let us take care of you," Trevor said, leaning in to brush his lips against Adrian's. "All day long, for however long we say."

"I don't think I'd mind that, though you'll have to define 'taking care of me' first." He nestled further into their arms, smiling into Sypha's hair. She let out a watery laugh, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "What would you want us to do?"

His eyes darkened visibly, and a faint pinkish tinge rose to his cheeks. "Well, that question has multiple answers," he said, a finger absently curling a lock of her hair around it. He was looking at both of them with a sort of half-incredulous awe, as if he couldn't believe they were there. "What would you want to do?" he asked, his other hand stilling on Trevor's back. 

"Well, we could sit around all day asking each other the same question," Trevor said easily, and he swung around, deftly pushing Adrian downwards so that his back hit the mattress, his pale hair fanning out all around his head, which was squarely in Sypha's lap. He didn't resist or complain, however, merely gazing up at them with half-hooded eyes, his cheeks flushed. "Or we could start taking care of you now," Trevor finished, his eyes sliding up the length of Adrian's body in a single long, sensual sweep before they stilled on his face. 

He didn't appear embarrassed under the attention, however; rather, he seemed to bask in it almost, merely tipping his head back and watching them, a dark sparkle in his eye and a lazy half-smile tilting his lips. He moved upwards, nestling his head further into Sypha's lap, clearly enjoying himself immensely. "Like what you see, Belmont?"

Trevor didn't reply, merely leaning down, effectively silencing him with a long, driving kiss, and Adrian responded ravenously, his back arching off the bed and his long legs wrapping around Trevor's waist. His fingers tangled in Trevor's hair, his other arm wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him down further. Sypha's fingers traced across his cheek, feeling the sharp bones of his face beneath her skin, feeling the way his body temperature slowly rose—one moment his skin was cool, and the next minute he was practically burning beneath her hands, blood rushing into his face. 

Trevor yanked himself away, his eyes darting all over Adrian's face, as if to memorize it, the shape of his eyes and the sweep of his lips. Sypha twined the elegant loops of his hair around her fingers as Trevor leaned down again, lips tracing the line of his throat upwards, his tongue just touching his skin. Adrian's eyes closed, his face stilling, his lips parting slightly and his fingers tightening on the sheets. 

Trevor's fingers curled around Adrian's hip, then dipped lower, flicking expertly over the buttons of his pants, and Adrian exhaled sharply, a hand wrapping tightly around Trevor's wrist, stopping him. "What—what are you doing?" His voice was breathless, thick with desire and want. 

Trevor only turned his face further into Adrian's neck, his smile a flash of white and silver in the pale light of the dawn. "Taking care of you," he murmured, and Adrian's fingers loosened, his lower lip snagging on his teeth. 

"If you want us to stop—" began Sypha. 

"No," he said, his eyes opening, an intense gold—so bright that they looked like chips of topaz that caught the sunlight and let off a dazzling spark. He struggled into a sitting position, half-turning to face both of them. There was a bright flush across his cheekbones, and his chest rose and fell deeply. "No, I want this." He sounded utterly sure, and there was no hesitation on his face or in his eyes. "But..."

"But what?" Sypha asked gently, and he turned hesitant golden eyes towards her, lacing her fingers with his, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to her knuckles—a sweet, genuine gesture. "But I want to touch you," he said simply, his eyes never wavering from her own. "I want to give you everything I possibly can."

"You already are," she said softly, moving forward and carefully seating herself in his lap, her legs wrapping around his narrow hips. "You've given us so much already," she said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He tilted his face upward to meet her gaze, and she rested adoring fingers on his cheeks, then leaned down and kissed him. 

His lips opened beneath hers almost immediately, his fingers digging into her thighs through the silk of her shift. She felt his long lashes brush against her cheekbones as he tilted his head, chasing her tongue with his, licking into her mouth and making slow waves of heat roll over her body. 

Half a moment later she felt another pair of hands rest on her hips, and she pulled away from Adrian, dazed, to see Trevor behind him, lips tracing over the curve of his neck, curling a lock of blond hair around his finger as he did. Adrian's lips parted, his eyes shimmering as he drew her in again, his back arching into Trevor as he kissed her, his legs tightening on her hips. His other hand reached behind him to fist in Trevor's hair, his head tipping back as he sighed against her mouth. 

Trevor's fingers hooked into the waistband of Adrian's trousers, pushing downward, pressing another kiss in between his shoulder blades. Adrian exhaled, his eyes closing, then kicked them off all the way, tossing them onto the floor by the bed where they lay in a crumpled heap, without breaking the kiss. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, their breath passing frantically between their lips. 

Sypha pulled away, breathing hard, her heart slamming in her chest. She reached down, grabbing the hem of her shift with both hands before lifting it up off her head, tossing it behind her heedlessly. Adrian was gazing at her, blood rushing into his face, his throat moving as he swallowed. He reached up, a finger tracing across her cheek, then moving down, following the line of her jaw, then down further, tracing the column of her throat. She felt her breath hitch in her throat as his finger trailed lower and lower, and it felt like there were sparks trailing in his wake, her whole body responding to his touch. 

He leaned forward, his lips finding her throat as his touch slowly moved down her skin inch by delicious inch. He tilted his head to kiss her neck, his finger moving down the valley between her breasts, then lower still. She clutched at his shoulders for support, feeling heat blossom low in her stomach, sensation spreading up her body. She thought she said his name, but she couldn't be sure—he was everywhere, he was everything, surrounding her and invading her senses and making her head spin. 

She felt his fangs just graze her neck and shivered, her back arching. "Adrian," she gasped shallowly, and he lifted his head, simmering eyes shadowed with lust gazing back at her, the pulse in his throat fluttering wildly. His arm wrapped tighter around her waist and then suddenly he dipped her, lowering her onto the bed, her back meeting the mattress. She grabbed his shoulders tighter for support as he laid her down, leaning above her, ivory and gold. 

He was looking down at her with an expression that was part desire and part reverence, and part something else—something almost possessive, languid and heady and consuming. His hands skimmed up her bare legs, fingers slowly pulling them apart inch by inch, and she gasped, fingers scrabbling on the sheets on either side of her. His fingers stilled just shy of the apex of her thighs, and he paused, the gold of his eyes nearly swallowed by the black force of his hunger.

He reached behind him for Trevor, whose chest was pressed to his back, his fingers clutching a fistful of dark hair as he turned. Their lips met almost softly, but intensely, Adrian's tongue sliding along Trevor's lip as he pulled away. Trevor leaned in again, and the force of it nearly snapped Adrian's head back, his fingers digging into Adrian's hip as he bore him backwards with the intensity of the kiss. When Adrian pulled away they were both breathing hard, Adrian's fingers still buried in Trevor's hair. 

He leaned in again, his other hand sliding down, fingers fumbling at the buttons of his trousers, and Trevor grinned against his lips, his free hand curling against Sypha's hip, fingers stroking along her skin. Adrian struggled for a few more moments, then succeeded in loosening the buttons, giving an exasperated huff between Trevor's lips. 

"God, why are your clothes so hard to take off?" he growled breathlessly, still tugging. Trevor merely tipped his head back, a lazy grin spreading across his face at Adrian's desperate efforts. He yanked Trevor's trousers down hard—and Sypha heard a loud rip as they tore right down the seam, and Adrian flung what remained of them away, smirking in a distinctly satisfied manner. 

Trevor blinked, stilling. "You owe me a new pair of pants," he mumbled as Adrian leaned in, grinning as he pecked Trevor on the lips. "I must say I prefer you out of them than in them," he said beatifically, and Trevor huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes as Adrian's fingers resumed their skimming up Sypha's legs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her ankle. She sighed as he continued in a careful path up her leg, dropping small, adoring kisses to her skin as he moved upwards. 

She grew more short of breath with each kiss, until she was squirming and gasping, her fingers gripping the sheets below her. His breath feathered over the inside of her thighs, soft and teasing and maddening, his lips ghosting over her skin. He looked up, lips poised just between her legs, not taking his eyes off hers, a small smile playing over his mouth. She stared back, her heart beating just a little too fast. 

His head dipped down and a muffled squeak leaped from her throat when she felt his lips graze the heat that had gathered between her legs, and she swallowed hard as she blinked dazedly up at the ceiling. She felt him tilt his head, his breath hot on her skin—and then he licked a sure, straight path from her opening to her clit. 

She sobbed out a breath, her fingers flying up to clench in his hair, gripping with frantic fingers. His tongue teased the bud of sensitive nerves at her core and she moaned, her back arching, a starburst of sensation erupting from where his mouth met her body. His teeth grazed her folds and she grit her teeth, swallowing another moan, a hand flying up to press against her lips to stop the sound, her teeth biting into her own skin hard. 

She felt a hand catch lightly at her wrist and opened her eyes to see a blurry Adrian, eyes dark and cheeks flushed and lips glistening. "Don't," he said, his voice rough. "I want to hear you."

She swallowed, chest heaving as he lowered himself over her again, parting his lips, tasting her deep and slow. Her head fell back, her legs tightening around his shoulders as pure feeling spiraled through her. She whispered his name, the ceiling wheeling and shimmering above her, as he moved down, his tongue dipping shallowly inside her. 

A keen scraped past her throat, a sound she never thought she'd ever hear herself make—a breathless, needy sound, full of wanton abandon and unbridled lust. Her fingers tightened in Adrian's hair, gasps escaping her lips as one of his hands unclenched from her hip, dipping between her legs to flick over her clit. 

She could see Trevor behind Adrian, a hand coming to rest on his hip as if to steady him, leaning down to trail his lips down Adrian's spine. She heard him hum gratifyingly against her skin, pressing soft, wet butterfly kisses to the insides of her thighs. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders again, feeling hard muscle shifting underneath his skin. She saw Trevor still, felt Adrian stiffen, his lips parting—and then Trevor moved forward, thrusting into Adrian from behind in one swift movement. 

Adrian groaned against her, his nails digging into her hip. Trevor was breathing hard as he drew back, then thrust forward again, and Adrian exhaled harshly, his teeth closing over her skin. A fluttering sigh escaped her, her legs falling open a little more as she felt his tongue dip into her again, another groan escaping him as Trevor moved forward again, sweat sticking his black hair to his forehead and his eyes glittering a dark blue. 

"Don't stop," Adrian said breathlessly, his lips sliding against Sypha as he did. "Don't stop—" The words broke off into a moan as Trevor pulled back, his other hand reaching down to tangle in Adrian's shimmering hair. She felt every individual movement of his mouth against her like it was magnified a thousand times, his name forcing itself from her lips over and over again like a prayer.

His tongue pressed to her clit as a finger slid down her slick heat, slipping inside her with ease. She felt her back arch off the bed, gasping in air as he curled that finger, exploring her body, his breath hitching as she clenched around the slight intrusion hard. He slipped another finger into her and she moaned again, biting her lip as his thumb swiped across her folds, his tongue still moving over her in a dizzying dance. 

When he slid a third finger inside her she literally felt herself stretch to accommodate him, her breath coming out in a sob as pleasure scorched through her body, the whole world narrowing down to where he touched her. He was gasping shallowly as Trevor took him hard from behind, never breaking his own careful demolishing of Sypha's self-control as he did. 

He slowly, carefully moved his fingers in and out of her, his lips moving in tandem, making stars explode in her vision. Another desperate moan dragged itself from her lips, a jumbled, breathless litany of _please_ s and _more_ s and _don't stop_ s. She felt like she was burning, like he was slowly setting her aflame with every kiss, every touch, every movement of his fingers and lips. 

She was aching for relief, for release, her hips thrusting up of their own volition, grinding herself against his teeth. She grit her teeth, her fingers biting into his shoulders, her head falling back. She could hear Adrian's soft groans, feel the way his body jolted forward every time Trevor moved into him, hear Trevor's ragged breathing and the way he leaned forward, murmuring into Adrian's ear, making his cheeks flush even more and his eyes darken to almost black. 

Finally Sypha broke, her vision flooding with white as her back arched helplessly, his name the only thing in her mind she could grasp. She felt burning waves of pleasure crest over her, turning her body to liquid fire and her limbs to useless, limp muscle. She felt her legs tighten bruisingly around Adrian's shoulders as she peaked, her heart racing in her chest and her breath coming in rough pants, as if she had run a great distance. 

Just as she alighted from the height of her pleasure she heard Adrian curse, biting out a frustrated oath as he threw his head back, his eyes closing as he groaned out Trevor's name, then Sypha's, his shoulders shaking as he came. He looked almost primal, with his whole body rendered in a single, unbroken line and his hair falling down his shoulders in a starry cascade. She could see the razor edges of his fangs, catching the pale light of the morning, his face filled with ecstasy and his chest hitching with the force of his breath.

When everything stopped shimmering and wheeling around her, she opened her eyes, feeling the softness of the blankets underneath her body and the feeling of skin pressing against her side. She felt an arm thrown carelessly around her waist, and another on her back. 

She turned her face further into Adrian's shoulder, breathing him in. He smelled like sweat and sex and dusty sheets, but at that moment she'd never smelled anything sweeter. He was limp and entirely relaxed, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling evenly. She could see Trevor on his other side, equally as limp, long limbs strewn across the bed. His arm was thrown across Adrian's chest, resting on Sypha's back, and his leg was thrown over Adrian's, his foot hooked under his knee. 

Sypha smiled to herself, closing her eyes. _This_ was what it was supposed to be like, what all of it was supposed to be like. She finally felt complete, like a piece of her that had been missing all her life had suddenly been given back to her. She was happy—happier than she ever remembered being. 

Her heart was a river that carried her to the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _You Take My Breath Away_ by Queen, 1976.


	4. Show Yourself, Destroy Our Fears, Release Your Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's not," said Trevor's quiet voice. "It's not irrational—I don't think we could ever really understand what you're going through, but we'll do whatever we can to help. But we're here, and we're real, and we're not leaving." His fingers were warm and solid on Adrian's back. "Never again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever, sorry. Here's the last chapter, hope you enjoy! Feedback is appreciated. :)
> 
> Warnings: Sex, and tooth-rotting fluff.

His heart was full. 

It was as if all his life he had only been seeing the world in black and white, and he hadn't realized it until now—now that he was with her, that he was with him, that he was with both of them, there was a splash of intense color that suddenly bled into the world, and he was blinded by the sheer intensity of its beauty. 

He could feel Sypha's warmth pressed against his left side and Trevor's pressed against his right, and there was an arm loosely wrapped around his waist and another curling around his arm, and an ankle hooked under his knee. He didn't know which was whose, but he didn't care, despite the fact that they were all a sweaty tangle of limp limbs. It felt unexpectedly good, and there was a lightness in his chest that made him wonder how he'd never noticed the weight that had rested there earlier. 

"Damn," he heard Trevor say, turning further into Adrian, his arm tightening around his waist—so it was Trevor's arm. Which meant it was Sypha's fingers that were twined around his own. "I've never been this done in after a round in my life."

He heard Sypha huff out a laugh against his shoulder. "Get used to it, then."

He felt cool lips on his neck and turned into the circle of Trevor's arm, sighing as his body unconsciously melted into his warmth. Something brushed against his lips and he turned his head, his eyes slipping closed as he chased Trevor's mouth with his own, and he returned it with a low groan, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. 

He pulled away slowly after what felt like years, so slowly that he felt every one of Trevor's breaths on his lips as he did, his eyes still half-closed. Trevor shifted closer, fitting their bodies together, enveloping Adrian in his heat. "You all right?"

"Mmmmm," Adrian said, resting his head on Trevor's chest. 

He felt Trevor's laugh reverberate through his whole body, and his fingers tangled in Adrian's hair that spilled down his back in messy loops. "I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"

"Mmmmm."

"Great." 

He heard Sypha laugh softly behind him, moving forward to wrap her arms around his waist, her cheek resting on his shoulder from behind. "I think we broke our dhampir," she said, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. 

Trevor laughed, his fingers drawing slow, hot circles on Adrian's hip, the beat of his heart steady against his cheek. Sypha's breaths were warm and calming against his shoulder, her arms safe and soft and perfect. If he could have stopped time and stayed immersed in this one moment for the rest of his life, he would be happy. 

He lifted his head finally, swallowing. "Thank you," he said. "For coming back. I—I don't know how much longer I could have stayed here alone."

"We would have come back the day we left," Sypha said, her voice soft. "We wanted to." Her arms tightened around his waist, her breath warm on his skin. "Every night," she said, her voice quiet. "I dreamed of you every night. I just wish we'd come back sooner." 

He turned, fingers reaching for hers. "Even if it took you another hundred years to come back to me, I'd wait." 

She smiled at him, her eyes shimmering. "I know."

"And from now on, wherever we go," said Trevor, softly, "we go together."

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, feeling the backs of his eyelids burn. He blinked the tears away, biting down hard on his lip to stop them. It was all suddenly too much, all of it—the reality that he wouldn't be alone anymore, that they would be with him, that they weren't leaving, that they loved him and they were _staying_. That there would be no more nights where he'd be alone and shivering and imagining them next to him, trying to keep himself awake, knowing he might not open his eyes if he fell asleep. That he could wake up and see both of them and know that he'd never have to go though what he had ever again. 

He hadn't even realized that his efforts hadn't been strong enough until Sypha leaned forward, wrapping her arms tighter around him as she kissed the tears from his cheeks, pressing herself against him, letting her warmth seep into his body. Trevor said nothing, merely resting his head on Adrian's shoulder, his breaths steady and his heartbeat calming against his back. He held onto both of them, not ever wanting to let them go. 

Sypha's featherlight lips brushed against his, and the kiss tasted like salt and tears, and it was light, soft, just a brush of lips on lips. "We've got you," she whispered, moving closer and putting her head on his chest, tucking herself into him. He closed his eyes, and they were all so tangled together that he couldn't tell where one of them began and the other ended, but he didn't care. 

He felt safe—for the first time after his mother's death, he felt safe. He could finally close his eyes and sleep and not be terrified of what his dreams would bring him. He could finally find relief in waking, and he could finally look at himself in a mirror and not want to put his fist through it, finally breathe and go outside and walk in the sunlight without feeling panic and fear choke him into immobility. 

"Sleep now," murmured Sypha, her lashes fluttering against his collarbone. "Sleep, Adrian—we'll be here when you wake."

So he closed his eyes, and he held onto both of them, and finally, after more than a year, for the first time since his mother died—he closed his eyes and he slept.

* * *

The first time he woke, he didn't realize why he had. 

All he was conscious of was the explosion of fear in his head, the frantic jumble of thoughts that all screamed at him at the same time, ones that asked and questioned and demanded and filled his head in a deafening clamor. _What if something triggers your memory and you get an attack while you're asleep? What if you imagined the last few days and Trevor and Sypha will never come back? What if you could have saved your mother and stopped all of this from happening? What if—_

"Adrian, Adrian, look at me," a soft voice said, and he slowly grew more and more aware of the pressure on his fingers, and that someone's warm hands were rubbing his back as if he were a cat, firm but gentle and steady. "Look at me," the voice said again. "Can you look at me, Adrian?"

He looked up with an effort, and a large pair of turquoise eyes swam into view, surrounded by a cloud of strawberry-blond curls. "It was just a dream, it was just a dream," she was saying, and while there was a determined expression on her face, her eyes were sad. "It's all right, Adrian, we're here."

"Sypha?" he gasped, and she nodded, smiling, her fingers stroking through his hair tenderly. "We're here, Adrian," she said again, and he realized that he must have said something aloud, for her to look so pained. He tried to tell her that he hadn't meant whatever he'd said, that it wasn't him that had said the words, not really—but instead his breath caught in his throat and choked him in an explosive coughing fit, one that made his whole body shudder and his vision blur alarmingly. 

"What's going on?" Trevor's voice sounded sleepy but panicked, and he felt a warm hand come to rest on his back. "What happened?"

"Adrian had a nightmare." Her voice was remarkably steady and calm, and she continued to rub his back firmly, her other hand gripping his shoulder, steadying him. "Shh," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair. "Take deep breaths."

He forced himself to obey, gasping in air, relieved when he found he could. His coughs subsided slowly, and his vision cleared, his breathing slowing. He swallowed, and Sypha held him tighter, murmuring to him softly in a soothing voice. "Better now?"

He nodded. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't realize that I had—"

"Don't be," she said, leaning down to press the softest of soft kisses to his lips. "We're here for you, and I know this won't go away in a night. It won't—but we'll try and make it easier for you." 

He exhaled, closing his eyes. "I don't even remember what I dreamed."

"You said something about how we were just a dream," she said quietly, her eyes huge and sad. "You said that we hadn't come back and that we never had."

"It's—I feared that—" He sighed. "It was something I'd always feared, that you hadn't come back and that I merely dreamed the last few days. It's irrational, I know, but..."

"It's not," said Trevor's quiet voice. "It's not irrational—I don't think we could ever really understand what you're going through, but we'll do whatever we can to help. But we're here, and we're real, and we're not leaving." His fingers were warm and solid on Adrian's back. "Never again. Okay?"

He nodded mutely.

"Now go back to sleep." He pressed a light kiss to the curve of Adrian's throat. "Wake us if anything happens. Both of us."

He nodded again, already slipping back into the drowsy darkness of sleep. Just before he went under he thought he could hear Trevor's voice, almost inaudible, whispering something that sounded almost like a prayer.

* * *

The second time he woke, it was most likely the middle of the day, judging from the intensity of the sunlight that pooled in the room from the windows. The first thing he was aware of was the warmth that cocooned him, both Trevor's and Sypha's body heat bleeding into his skin. The second thing was that he could feel someone's arms—Trevor's he thought blearily—wrapping tighter around his waist, and warm lips brushing against his neck. 

He sighed happily, melting willingly into the touch, one arm curling around the hunter's shoulders to tangle in his fingers in his messy hair, his other arm reaching back to curl around Sypha's thigh, fingers stroking along her soft skin. He heard her hum contentedly, a warm exhale puffing onto his back in return. 

"Awake again, I see," mumbled Trevor, his fingers skating across Adrian's back. He purred in response, arching up to press his lips to his, and Trevor retaliated, his lips parting, warm and gentle. He fell and spun and drowned in the kiss, the solidity behind it and the way Trevor's tongue eased his lips open, curling against his own. The taste of him spread in Adrian's mouth and his eyes drifted shut, heat blooming in his stomach. 

Trevor pulled away slowly, resting his forehead against Adrian's, letting their breaths mingle. Adrian's palm cradled his face, his thumb stroking across his cheek. This time, it was Trevor who leaned in again, his teeth closing gently over Adrian's bottom lip. He tilted his head, tugging slightly, and it sent a spike of sensation through him, a dull ache between his legs. He exhaled, feeling his heart jolt in his chest as heat rose to his face. 

He pulled back, feeling a faint, not-unpleasant stinging on his lip. Trevor's eyes were open, impossibly blue in the light. They flicked over Adrian's face, darkening slowly. "Sit up," he said softly, reaching up to brush an errant strand of hair off Adrian's forehead. His touch was soft but no less electrifying. 

He did, the sheets bunching at his hips as he did. This time it was Sypha's fingers, lacing with his own, and he couldn't help but think of how different her lips felt on his own—softer, with more finesse, nibbling gently on his lower lip before pulling away. She was small and warm and delicate almost in his lap, her knees locking around his hips. He leaned up just as she leaned down, and stars exploded behind his eyes as their lips met again, but this time it was slightly more desperate, sloppy almost, Sypha's teeth sliding along his upper lip when she gasped against his mouth as his fingers dug into her hips.

She murmured softly as he pulled back, just far enough to see her eyes. He could feel Trevor behind him, his back curving against Adrian's chest, his knees tightening around his waist as he leaned forward to run his lips down the curve of his throat.

She sighed, dipping her head, nuzzling gently into Adrian's neck, her breath warm against his skin. She lifted her head to kiss him again, and he returned it carefully, mindful not to cut her with his fangs, carefully tilting his head and opening her lips with his, teasing her tongue to curl against his in a maddening dance. When she pulled away for air she sighed, smiling at him and laying her head on his chest. 

"How are you so perfect?" she sighed, and he blinked down at her, perplexed, sure she was joking. She looked back at him, seeming equally flummoxed. "What?"

He stared at her. "You are serious."

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning in to peck his lips. "I'm serious. You're completely perfect, Adrian Tepes. Utterly perfect. There's nothing about you that I don't love." She kissed his cheek. "And if I could just stay here sitting in your lap forever, then I would."

"Hey," called Trevor's voice from behind him indignantly, and she grinned at Adrian. " _With_ the dirty hunter there too, of course. I can count on him to have my back and catch you while I"—she leaned closer, her breaths fanning out on Adrian's lips—"completely ravish you."

"Oh?" He grinned at her as she nodded, still smiling in a slightly lovestruck way, her hair completely mussed and her cheeks pink. It was absolutely adorable. "It takes more than you might think to properly ravish a dhampir," he murmured, and she raised an eyebrow. 

"Well, then I'll do my best." She kissed him again, as if she couldn't get enough of the taste of his mouth. He wasn't complaining, though. She drew away just enough for him to still feel her lips on his when she spoke again. "Adrian," she said softly, and something about her voice made a shiver trace down his spine slowly. Her lashes fluttered against his cheeks. "Has anyone ever made love to you before?"

He shut his eyes, feeling a blush rise in his cheeks. He shook his head.

She exhaled, her fingers brushing across his face. Her fingers curled behind his jaw, her other hand sliding into his hair as she lowered her head, lips tracing across his cheek carefully. Her fingers tightened in his hair, tilting his head as her lips slid to his jaw, her other hand tracing the line of his spine downwards, fingers curling at his hip. Her lips were soft, and he could feel warmth spreading up his body with every butterfly kiss she placed on his skin. 

She moved closer, lips ghosting over his neck, and goosebumps broke out over his skin, and he swallowed hard. He could feel Trevor's fingers slowly tracing up his back, from his jaw and over his side in a long caress that ended at his hip. His head tilted to the side almost against his volition, and he sighed. It was almost overwhelming, the feeling of both of them and both of their lips and fingers and hands. 

Sypha lifted her head, her fingers coming to rest on his shoulders, gripping tightly. She bit her lip, shifting slightly. He felt his breath catch in his throat, stiffening as her grip on his shoulders tightened, and then she levered herself up, her lips parting—and then she moved down, her eyes locked on his as she took him inside her in one slow movement. 

He gasped, his hands tightening on her hips, stiffening as she exhaled, lowering herself down all the way, and he felt his breathing turn ragged as she did. She didn't take her eyes off his, and he found himself unable to look away as well, watching her pupils dilate, black eclipsing blue. He groaned as he felt her irresistible velvety heat all around him, enveloping him in the feeling and the smell of Sypha. 

He saw the line of her throat move as she swallowed, and her hands tightened even further on his shoulders—he was sure he would bruise now, though the pain felt almost good, a sharp contrast to the heady pleasure sluicing through his body. He saw her eyes drift shut as she gave a slow, almost experimental thrust of her hips against his, and both of them gasped at the friction. 

His own eyes fell shut slowly as she began gradually, rolling her hips over his, her eyes still closed, her lips parted and her cheeks flushed. Each slow rock of her hips sent ripples of scalding pleasure over his body, rolling over him in slow, hot waves. He could feel Trevor's lips on his neck, adding another layer of sensation that made his heart race and his blood rush through his body. If he thought what he felt earlier was pleasure, then this was ecstasy. 

Sypha's movements were still so slow, so deliberate, so careful almost. She leaned down to gently slot their lips together, and he felt everything like it was magnified a thousand times, echoing in his body and sending him one step down towards the fathomless cavern of ecstasy below. She kissed him softly, slowly, gentle caresses of her lips that made him feel like somehow the fire that she could harness so easily with her fingers was setting him aflame to her wish, burning him from the inside. 

Her fingers traced the lines of his chest downward and he felt his heart skip a few beats, the ghost of her touch lingering on his skin. He pulled away from the kiss, and her eyes shimmered like twin oceans as he did. "Sypha—what are you—what are you doing—?"

She smiled slowly, arms tightening around his shoulders as she leaned forward, not breaking the excruciatingly slow pace of her hips over his own, trapping him with her thighs around his waist and her knees locked around the small of his back. Her lips brushed his ear, her breath hot and teasing and tickling. "I'm making love to you," she whispered. 

He heard Trevor laugh softly from behind him, a finger curling a lock of his hair around it. "Once she's got you, she won't let you go," he murmured, and Sypha extricated herself from Adrian's arms long enough to swat Trevor upside the head. "I'm trying to be seductive here," she said, though the faint strain of breathlessness in her voice gave it away. "Let me do my thing, Belmont."

"If it's the same 'thing' you did for me, then we're all fucked—ouch!" He ducked away from her hand, which had just smacked his shoulder. "All right, all right, seduce the poor man. Though I think the element of surprise has officially been eliminated."

Sypha rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at Trevor. "Don't worry, you're doing excellently," Adrian assured her, feeling a smile tug at his lips. "I assure you I am already entirely seduced. Although it might not count, since I was done for the moment you threatened to incinerate me if I killed Trevor in Gresit."

She let out a surprised little sound. "That was ten minutes after we'd unofficially met."

"Like I said." He leaned forward, seeking her lips with his own. "I'm already wrapped around your finger. Your work here is done."

"Not yet." She smiled against his mouth, drawing him closer. She was still moving, tightening the coil of pleasure inside him, heightening the pressure that was gathering at the base of his spine. He felt himself inching towards release, his body straining towards it, as Trevor's teeth closed gently over the curve between his neck and shoulder, sending another hot wave of sensation over him. 

At this rate he wasn't going to last long—and they both knew it. 

He reached back to fist a hand in Trevor's hair, half-turning his head to meet his mouth with his own. Trevor responded with a low, satisfied purr, deepening the kiss with a messy swipe of his tongue. Adrian chased the taste of him, relishing in his unrefined technique, shifting to change the angle of the kiss. He pulled away and Adrian leaned in again, pressing another small kiss to the corner of his mouth. Trevor's fingers tugged on a lock of his hair, sighing against his mouth. 

"The fuck do you put in this?" he asked, giving Adrian's hair another tug. "This stuff's like spider silk. Is it some weird plant extract or some shit we mere mortals can't access?"

Leave it to Trevor to ask him what he put in his hair at a time like this, he thought, then he laughed, but it hitched in the middle. "You're an idiot," was all he could manage to say with Sypha still moving over him exquisitely, sighing each time their hips collided. 

She gasped his name, her lashes fluttering, and he could see the pulse in her neck fluttering madly. He could smell her blood as well—rich and salty and intoxicating. He could smell the energy her magic lent it, a heavy, metallic zing. Different from Trevor's, which carried the iron tang of nobility. A sacred house, and a sacred bloodline. He'd always secretly wanted to taste his blood, the blood of a Belmont, to allow his essence and vitality of him to flood into his own veins—the enticement of that which was forbidden.

The scent of it made his head spin, and Sypha's next thrust had him breaking at last, white flooding his vision as he felt a searing ocean of pleasure wash over him, drowning him and sending him asunder. It swept him somewhere far away, somewhere where the stars descended from the heavens and made everything explode with their polychromatic light. Through it all he could feel Sypha, the way her legs tightened around him as she too came apart under the pressure, and Trevor's steadiness behind him as he spun away into the chasm. 

He came to, slumped back against the hunter, whose arms were wrapped loosely around his waist, and with Sypha draped across his front, her head on his chest and her hair tickling his throat. He felt limp and useless, and he let himself relax into both of them, smiling and closing his eyes. 

He would be all right.

* * *

"And then," Sypha concluded, "the sun rose from behind the ruins of the Belmont manor, new beginnings from old endings, and bathed Dracula's castle in light. It was the dawn of a new era, of new stories and more hope. The sky turned gold, and the dawn arrived with the promise of something better, and brought forth the new day and age."

She sat back, folding her hands. "That's it."

Adrian was sprawled on the bed with his head in Trevor's lap, listening to Sypha weave her story—since she had met Trevor in Gresit all the way until the three of them had killed Dracula. She'd been talking constantly without a break for nearly two hours, and Adrian hadn't stirred once throughout the whole story, listening raptly. He blinked, gazing out at her with a sort of rapture that Trevor could totally relate to. He imagined he'd have had a similar expression on his face when he'd first heard her say it. 

"You do magic with more than your hands," he said at last, smiling at her. "You perform equal wonders with your voice."

She blushed. "Oh, stop it."

"No, really. And there I was, thinking all we did was sit in a library for days on end and kill a few demons." He grinned up at Trevor.

"Technically," Trevor cut in, "That is all we did."

"But even so." He took Sypha's hand, his thumb running over her knuckles. "You're amazing, Sypha."

She blushed some more. "I know, no need to say it." But she looked distinctly gratified, her cheeks glowing. "It took a while to read it into our memory stores, but it's worth it. I feel like everyone should know what we did, and how. Now if only we could get the missing pieces of what happened here while we were there..." She sighed. "Perhaps that is a story for another day. For when we have all the pieces."

"I'm glad you did it." He closed his eyes, his hair splayed all around his head like the golden rays of the sun, tickling Trevor's ankles. "It's a fitting end to everything, somehow."

"There's still plenty to be seen and done," Trevor said, leaning back on his hands. "We're not nearly through with this whole mess yet."

"Then we'll write a new story." Adrian opened his eyes, and they were very gold in the dimness. "One that starts fresh. After all..." He grinned, his fangs flashing. "There's still Hector and Carmilla to be dealt with."

Trevor sighed dramatically. "And there I was, thinking this one would be an erotic love story. There go my hopes and dreams."

"It can be both." He sent Trevor a lopsided smile that made him really want to kiss him. "We can kill Carmilla, and then spend all our pent-up energy and frustration in bed afterwards." He held up his hands, closing an eye as if to focus. "A fitting end to our second installment, don't you think?"

"Mmhmm." He grinned. "Sounds good to me."

Sypha laughed. "You two are hopeless." Then she stretched, sighing as she dropped her hands. "I am _starving_. Adrian, I hope there are still supplies in the kitchen and you weren't starving yourself."

He yawned, shaking his head and gazing out at her. He looked like a sleepy lion, what with his half-lidded tawny eyes and the mane of golden hair spread all around his head. "There's food in the kitchen," he said. "But I'm afraid I'm a rather dismal cook."

"So am I," she said, sending Trevor an evil grin that made him know exactly what she was going to say. He was about to open his mouth to say _Don't you dare_ , but before he could, she said, "You won't believe this, but Trevor is a great cook."

Adrian's brows shot up. "Really?" He grinned at Trevor. "I never knew this."

"Oh, that's right," Trevor grumbled. "Gang up on me. You always gang up on me."

"Ooh," Sypha said. "He can also braid really well."

"I hate you," Trevor muttered.

Adrian laughed. "I had no idea," he said. "How'd you learn to braid?"

"I had sisters," sighed Trevor. "It sort of came with the territory." He waved away their apologetic expressions, shaking his head. "Don't. I'm fine with talking about it—what's done is done, anyway."

Adrian sat up with his back to Trevor, still grinning like a smug cat. "Go on, braid it," he said, shaking his head so that his cascade of blond curls swayed right in front of Trevor's face. 

"Oh, no way."

"Come on," he teased, smirking. "And then we can go downstairs and you can cook us something. I must say I'm most curious about your culinary abilities."

"You're both evil." He folded his arms, and Sypha laughed. "Oh, go on, Treffy," she said, and he winced at the nickname. "What is it today, National Pick on Trevor Day?"

Adrian half-turned, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, go on. Braid it. I promise I won't say a word."

He huffed, finally relenting and carefully bunching Adrian's hair in his hands before running his fingers through it to work out the tangles. "I swear if you make this a habit, I'll never forgive you," he muttered.

He heard Adrian laugh again, and the sound loosened something in his chest, something that made a grudging little smile tug at his own lips. God, he was getting soft. But as he carefully sectioned Adrian's hair and pulled the strands into a weave, hearing Sypha and Adrian laughing and talking about what they'd do to convince Trevor to take a bath with them and finally get clean—he felt more normal, more steady, more relaxed than he had since he'd had a family. 

He smiled to himself as he braided Adrian's hair, feeling the softness of it against his fingers. Maybe this would turn out all right after all. 

Life was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Innuendo_ by Queen, 1991.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be eternally grateful if you'd drop me a comment telling me what you think! ^.^


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